Under the Long Shadow
by DougStone
Summary: Mason Hall starts Hogwarts the year after Harry Potter: what would it be like to go to Hogwarts under THAT shadow? It's a much different story for this much-different boy!  Canon-compliant, Original Characters! REVIEWS WANTED PLEASE!
1. Prologue: Just Another Day

Under the Long Shadow, Prologue

Summary: Mason Hall is just a boy. When his eleventh birthday rolls around, his life changes. What was it like growing up in shadow of the Golden Trio?

Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. All things Hogwarts belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm simply playing in her world. Mason Hall and family are my original creations. All Gryffindors in Ginny's year besides her and Colin Creevy are also mine. Thank you once again to J.K. Rowling for this fertile landscape we've been given to seed!

AN: Inspired by the thoughts, "Who were Ginny Weasley's classmates, and how in the world did the class after Harry's ever hope to compare?"

Under the Long Shadow

Prologue - Just Another Day

"It's not every day my little brother turns ten-and-one."

The sun was shining on Mason's birthday. He should have known that nothing good could come from it. The park was nearly empty, which was odd for late August, even with the pool shut down. The swing set didn't creak as it boiled under the noonday sun. The flowers looked tired. Yellowed grass wavered in the distance in all directions.

"Don't be daft, Marcus. Of course I can't turn eleven every day. That would cause a sub-atomic temporal event that would rip apart the fabric of reality."

Marcus frowned down at his little brother, then reached out and cuffed him.

"Ow! Hey, ya slimy git!"

Marcus scowled. "Who taught ya how to talk like that?"

Mason rubbed at his sore ear. "Mrs. Covington. I heard her yelling at her old man out on the porch."

"Little punk. Looks like someone needs a birthday spanking…" Marcus made to roll up his sleeves. Mason reacted in character keeping with most brave, little brothers.

"Mum! Mummmmmmm! Marcus is beating me!"

"Hey, hold still, ya-" An impromptu game of tag saw both boys running around the picnic table.

"Oh, give off, you two," Mrs. Hall's exasperated voice came from the station wagon. "I swear there's ten of you sometimes with the noise you produce. Why don't you stop that bother and help your mother out?"

"Marcus can help, ma. Felicia says he's so big and strong," Mason sing-songed, batting his eyelashes in a good approximation of the neighbor girl. Marcus made to cuff him again, but Mason dodged it and stuck his tongue out.

"Somebody, help me," Mrs. Hall emerged from the rear of the car, struggling with a cooler and several boxes.

"I got it, mum." Marcus relieved his mother of the packages and walked them over to the table. Mason thought about tripping him, but stopped himself.

"Mason, sweetie, get the ice."

"What? Mum, it's _my_ birthday! Why do I gotta help?"

Digging in the back of the wagon again, Mrs. Hall's voice turned stern. "Because, young man, you're a part of this family. Do you want me to do only my laundry from now on?"

"All right, all right, mum. I'm coming." Mason kicked some gravel that offended him as he trudged over. The bumper was hot and almost burned Mason in his short pants. He leaned way over and grabbed the large sack by the tip, dragging it toward him. The bag was all sweaty, and stuck to the bumper. Mason got a finger under it, but yelped as he touched the sunburned metal. The bag tore, and cubes tumbled out and bounced all over.

"Mason!"

"Ouch! Stupid ice bag!"

"Nice one, shrimp. Now we've got no ice. Way to go!"

Mrs. Hall put a hand to her forehead. "That's enough, you two."

"Yeah, that's enough, Marcus." Mason blew a raspberry at his brother.

"Mason Hall! That is quite enough!" Mrs. Hall fished about in the back of the car, coming out with her purse. "Now run down to the corner and fetch a new bag."

"But mom!"

"Don't 'but mom' me, mister. Your friends will be arriving soon, and I want cold drinks here for them when they do."

"But it's MY BIRTHDAY!" Mason yelled at the top of his lungs. The sound bubbled out into the heat and died, mocking him.

"It will be your last if you don't behave and do what I say."

"Why can't Marcus do it?"

"Because I'm so big and strong, I need to stay here and help mum set up," Marcus's voice floated over from the table. "Get a move on, shrimpy wimpy."

"Enough, Marcus," Mrs. Hall waved him away. Shoving a ten-note in Mason's hands, she patted him on the cheek with an absent, "don't dawdle," and went back to the boxes and bags.

_They're not even my friends, _Mason thought. He jammed his hands into his pockets and kicked at the sidewalk. He didn't even want this party. It was the same every year since dad died: mum would invite all the moms she knew and their kids, and sit around and gossip and ignore him. Mason would get maybe one present and a little cake. Mum wouldn't bring ice cream, which was his favorite. He didn't even like cake. All those boxes mum and Marcus were unloading were party favors and decorations for the guests.

Mason almost tripped over a particularly kick-resistant spot of sidewalk when he thought he heard a cat meow. He stopped and looked. The lots here were full of trailers, dusty and largely unkempt, but it was the only public park in the neighborhood. There weren't any pets here. There were hardly lawns.

_Meow. _There it was again. Mason squinted at the shadows under a trailer porch. Lantern like eyes shone in the dark.

"Oy, who's that?" Mason said, feeling very silly. Who talks to cats? The grass crunched as Mason took a tentative step forward.

A shock ran up Mason's leg and caused him to cry out. What? Mason danced back a few steps and shook his leg out. Did he step on something? His trainers were old, but they had _some _sole left. He looked down at the yard. No thorns, no sprinklers. _Meow. Meow. MEOW._

Mason scowled at the glowing eyes. Then his own eyes flew open. He wasn't hearing a cat meow. He was hearing a cat _say_ "Meow."

"Oy, who's that? Kyle? You funnin' on me?" Mason's left hand automatically tightened. Kyle Sloper was that guy everybody knows, the boy who got taller and wider than all the others sooner and therefore decided that his mission in life was to pound on little guys. Mason was small, even for eleven. Well, ten and 364 days and some odd seconds. He'd been born on a sunny afternoon just like this one. It had been a sunny afternoon when dad had answered the phone, a sunny afternoon when they'd watched him fly away in his uniforms, a sunny afternoon when mum had answered the phone and their lives were forever changed.

"I'm warning you, Kyle. I've got a weapon." It was true, technically. Mason had gotten in the habit of carrying a short, sharpened stick in his waistband. Since his clothes were all Marcus's hand-me-downs, no one noticed the bulge. Mason had no illusions that he could actually hurt Kyle with the stick, but having it on him made him feel stronger.

_Meow. What's a Kyle? _Both Mason's fists were curled now. His left at the small of his back around the stick, his right in a fist. It must be the heat. He was going looney. He really needed to get that ice.

But he took another step forward instead.

This time there was no shock. But Mason heard a sound, like glass breaking, over and over. And seagulls. Seagulls? There weren't any gulls here. He shook his head and stepped closer to the eyes watching him.

_Meow. Can't take a hint can you? _He could swear he saw those eyes wink at him, and then they were gone. Suddenly the grass under Mason's feet felt hot, really hot, like it was burning through his soles. He danced back to the sidewalk. Looking back at the space under porch, he saw nothing. No eyes, no movement.

"Blimey, I've gone nutter." Mason shook his head and walked on. The nearest drugstore was blocks away. Mason kept himself from running. It wasn't easy. He felt like eyes were on him all that way, though he saw nothing.

Unluckily, the drugstore's cooler wasn't working, so the inside smelled worse than Marcus's gym socks. Mason made for the icebox.

"Aw, it's widdle Stoner. How's it rollin', Stoner?"

Mason's tiny knuckles popped this time as his fist tightened around the handle. There was only one thing worse than Kyle, it was his older brother Jack. Jack was a year older, hand long hair and a moustache. He also had friends, with varying length of facial hair. Mason thought it was dumb to grow moustaches, especially over summer break. He'd said so, and that's why Jack had hit him most recently.

"Need a hand, Stoner?"

Mason realized he hadn't opened the cooler yet. His hand was trembling. He yanked the door open, only to have it crash back down. Jack stood there, looking happy with himself.

"Can't figger out the dumb door, Stoner?"

Focusing on his trainers, Mason eased out a slow breath and yanked on the handle again. This time, the door didn't even open all the way as Jack's meaty palm slapped down on it.

"Can't hear, either, Stoner? Can't be bothered? Wassamatter, you? Lost yer tongue?"

Mason tried once more to open the cooler, but this time Jack slammed the door down on his hand, hard. In a flash, Mason had whipped out his stick and lunged for Jack's face. "Call me Stoner again, Jackanapes! Do it!"

Mason thought he saw a flicker of fear as Jack's eyes crossed over the point of the stick, but it passed before he could be sure. "Little prat," Jack spat, but he let go of the handle.

Mason wrenched out a bag of ice and turned without saying another word.

"It's your birthday, isn't it?"

Mason stopped in his tracks. He noticed two things right away: Jack's tone had changed as much as a person's could - unassuming, curious, almost warm - and he hadn't called Mason 'Stoner' either.

The Sloper boys had thought it the height of hilarity to give Mason this nickname in primary school. It stemmed from the fact that Mason often stared off into the distance in class. Quite as often, when snapping back to reality, he would answer a given question with great detail and absolute clarity when everyone was sure he'd not even heard the question.

The new angle didn't ruffle Mason. He whirled on the older boy. "What of it? If I see you, if I see water balloons or spitwads, if I see any hint of you-"

Jack scowled suddenly, as if he'd just remembered to act mean. "Whatever, ye prat. Shove off then." Jack bumped his shoulder hard as he went by, mumbling something about "muddle", and left the store.

At the register, Mason noticed the checker's cat staring at him from behind the counter. It was a sleek, lanky tailless variety, pure black, with large, yellow eyes. Mason stared at it. The checker cleared his throat. "Line getting on behind you, lad."

Mason mumbled apologies and fished the ten-note out of his trousers. "Your cat's got a staring problem. What's it? A Marx, or Manx? I never get it right."

The checker stared back at Mason with considerably less intelligence than his cat. "Wot?"

Mason opened his mouth to repeat, and stopped. Where did the cat go? Mason craned his neck to look over the counter, but saw nothing. He looked behind him, where he saw only impatient customers. He handed over the money and mumbled thanks. The ice was heavy.

Outside it seemed to have only gotten hotter. Mason was stepping off the curb when it came to him again. _Meow! _Louder this time, and close. He jumped back, tripped and fell on his bottom, and lost the ice bag. A second later, a car roared by much too quickly and roared through the space Mason was standing in.

Mason's heart was thudding rapidly as he retrieved the ice, which luckily hadn't burst open. He looked around for the mysterious speaking cat, but it wasn't there, and the auto that had almost killed him was puttering away now.

Mason was quiet as he walked back. There was a lot going on in his mind, and very little of it made sense. He was so lost in thoughts of cat eyes, burning grass, and bullies, that he didn't even realize he'd arrived at the park until he heard the unmistakable chatter of mothers.

He deposited the ice on the table without a word, then his eyes lit up. Marcus was bouncing for all he was worth on a trampoline! Mason felt a grin split his face in two. He might have some fun this birthday after all. Taking a running start, he leapt at the platform.

"Oy, gerrof!" Marcus yelled, but a second later Mason was shooting up, flailing wildly, heading for a tree! With a dry thud, Mason felt his stomach heave and his nose cry out at him. Pain hit him in places he hadn't known existed, and his feet dangled in open air. One of his trainers slipped off, and hit the ground seconds later. _Seconds? _Despite spreading pains, Mason curiously looked down.

He was twenty feet off the ground.

Marcus was below him, looking up with a mix of incredulity and disapproval. "What are you playing at?"

Mrs. Hall was screaming. "Mason Hall! You get down from there this instant! And I wanted cubed ice, not crushed!"

The rest of the day passed as expected. Mason sat at the picnic table, eating yucky cake while kids he didn't know ran around squirting each other with water guns, and bouncing on the trampoline he wasn't allowed on anymore. "Never been so embarrassed," his mother had said. They hadn't even sang to him.

Mason was made to help clear out while Marcus made googly faces at the older neighbor girls and did back flips on the trampoline. Mason was thoroughly in a rotten mood by the time they returned home.

Arms laden with leftovers and half-ruined decoration, Mason trundled up the stairs, wanting nothing more than to collapse in his bed and forget his birthday.

"Pick up the post," Mrs. Hall said as he reached for the door handle. Mason was carrying as much as her and Marcus, and his arms weren't as big. Why did _he_ have to pick up the post?

Mason felt the stick in his trousers dig into his backside as he carefully bent down. He squeaked, and promptly dropped all his packages. His mother's yelled admonishment didn't reach his ears as he stared. It wasn't a cat this time. As if entranced, his hand reached down of its own accord to retrieve what lay there.

"Mason Sammandahl Hall! Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Junk mail, a catalog, a flyer, and a very large, yellowed, thick envelope, the last one sealed with some odd, waxy lump. The last one was all he saw. He straightened, turned to his family, and held out his hand.

"Mum, look. I've gotten a letter."


	2. Chapter 1: The Prepared Soul

AN: Anyone wondering at the rating, let me say this: it's for safety's sake. Right now, my OC is 11 (and not very 'M'), but like life, you never know when profanity is going to slip out or someone opens the wrong door to see something risqué. Nothing's planned, but what in life ever is? Of course, Hogwarts and HP and all canon is JK's property. I'm just playing here. We're still in pre-Hogwarts here, but when we do get there, there will be an OC Gryffindor class list, minus Ginny and Colin, more of JK's sacred material. Continues the story: what was it like for the class after Harry's?

Under the Long Shadow

Chapter One: The Prepared Soul

_Is this what freedom feels like?_

Mason Hall stood outside a great, red-bricked building, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of late summer traffic, with the late morning sun piercing the scattered clouds and the late-minded drivers in the car park nearly flattening him. He knew he was short, even for a newly-minted eleven year old, but the huge trunk he was lugging and terrarium holding his new toad named Plex, should be enough to alert even the most diffident of drivers. All the same, he picked a precise path through the park. He was almost flattened by a Mini-Cooper that was still bigger than he was. Dashing to the curb, he started to search for a trolley.

And then what? Mum had dropped him off at King's Cross on her way to work. Her look as she kissed his cheek was a mixture of anxiety and bother. Mason was used to that. Marcus had gone to visit with friends rather than see his little brother off. Mason had once gotten lost in the mall in Sutton once, and spent three hours wandering in clothes racks and peering through shop windows before his mum had noticed he'd gone. It had been a great three hours. But this was different. There was no safety net. Mason was alone.

Someone bumped into him and sent his carryall to the ground, spilling out its contents. Parchment and quills, inkwells, a map of King's Cross, and a slender, shaped piece of wood rolled out at will. Mason dove for the last item without regard for himself or any others present. Clutching the slender rod in both hands, he quickly steadied his breathing and began the hunt for his other possessions. _That was close. _He hadn't even boarded the train for Hogwarts, and he'd almost lost his wand.

_My wand, _Mason thought, sliding the item slowly back into his carryall. He'd need to find a better storage place than that soon. He'd tried his pocket, but sitting in his mum's cramped car had shown option that to be unreasonable. For now, the wand found a home in his carryall. _My magic wand._

It still seemed like a dream...

"I don't think anyone's here."

"Mum, come on!" Mason dragged his mother by the arm to pull her fully into Ollivander's shop. "You passed by every other shop I wanted to see! That Kid-Itch store, the joke shop, the sweets store. And I can't believe you let me get my robes fitted myself! You always used to go with me!" Mason's older brother, Marcus, in secondary school now, got all the new clothes, leaving Mason with the hand-me-downs. The happy accident or two that let Mason get his own new school clothes were few and far between, and they were like mini-Christmases.

"Yes, well, a little man, growing up...he needs...um..."

Mrs. Hall's voice drifted off. Mason himself was drifting too. The inside of Ollivander's was magnificent, high and narrow, seemingly going on forever, walls lined with sales posters from years gone by (New Faux-Bone Wands, More resilient than the real thing! Fool your friends to believe you still slaughter a wooly mammoth for your wand!) lined one side, pinned by some unknown force. Faded and peeling wallpaper seemed to add to the mood, as if all the years had seeped in and made themselves at home. Behind a desk which Mason could barely see over sat row upon row of boxes, dark, light, wooden, metal, skinny, fat, locked or lain open. Some were dusty with age, some pristine and untouched. Mason couldn't stop grinning, even when he noticed the amount of scorch marks on the walls.

"This place is so...so...wizard!"

"I wish you wouldn't say that, dear," Mrs. Hall said, one hand held up to her mouth. She looked like she was trying not to breathe any of the magic in. She'd been that way all day, tightly holding herself in, keeping everything at bay through sheer willpower. Still, it was better than how she'd first reacted. Mason had been grounded for a week, just for getting a letter. Or maybe it was because he's opened the letter himself. And read it. And then run to his room and re-read it seven times. And locked his door. And then ran away from home for three days.

Magic. Real life magic. Mason could hardly believe it. This was the kind of thing that he dreamt about before he started primary school. Knights, wizards, dragons, fair ladies, bubbling cauldrons, impossible odds, funny hats and swishing cloaks. It was all real! And he was going to be a part of it. He could hardly wait for his first dragon.

Mason was fingering a particularly interesting wand ad (Looking for the Missing Link? The Apes used wands, why can't YOU?) when the bell over the door chimed. Mason watched as a girl shorter than him and a dumpy woman, presumably her mother, entered the shop with what can only be described as...purpose. The girl marched straight up to the counter and mashed her fist down on a bell there, seven times in rapid succession.

"Yes? Oh, well now, what do we have here. Ah, Molly! Molly Prewett, was it now? Never forget a pairing, I do not! Lovely, yes, simply marvelous! Alderwood, 7 inches, kelpie hair as a core, wonderful for charms, as I recall...but the sun wasn't shining that day...most curious..."

Emerging from behind the counter was the owner of the voice, indeed the most strange man Mason had ever seen. He had a head full of white, stringy hairs, shanks all the way down his jaw to his chin, a shiny pate up top of his head, and large, bulbous watery eyes. Like many he'd seen today, his clothes were...dated. The ruffs at his neck and cuffs were lacy, but dirty and torn, as if used daily; his dress was a crushed plum, almost like a fresh grape, but coated with dust, but not from disuse at all. Mason recognized the marks of someone that played in dirt everyday. Old people did that too? Mason reasoned that this man was at _least_ as old as his mum.

"Oh, good day to you, Mr. Ollivander! Wonderful weather we're having today, isn't it? Haven't seen Diagon Alley this nice since, well, for quite a long time by whatever measure! Surely there hasn't been a day like this for quite some time, to be sure! No, no, definitely not a day like this!" The old, dumpy woman was prodding the girl forward with every word. The girl's hair was the color of the sunset.

"Oh, most curious!" the man behind the counter crooned. His speech was practiced, though. Mason thought everything the man saw was 'curious'. Like how his mates at school always said "bang-on," whenever they were asked, "Hey, mate. Sorted?"

The little girl fixed the old man with a direct stare. "I want my wand."

The man's eyebrows, very impressive in their own right, rose until they met his hairline. "Truly? Well then, let us not delay. I cannot abide separation of a determined soul, not at all. Come closer, then, child, and let us find you this wand you claim as your own."

Mason was rooted to the spot, like his mother, but for different reasons, he was sure. He was fascinated by the process that followed: the old man produced a tape measure that wound up and around and beside the girl. It took some time before Mason noticed that the old man wasn't holding the tape-it snaked itself all around the girl, measuring this and that and the other thing, of its own accord. As he leaned forward to watch, Mason knew his mother was rooted to the spot, but leaning backwards as much as possible, as if a shift in her stance would disrupt the process. Mason rolled his eyes. It was just a tape measure! A very talented one, but still. What harm could it bring?

The tape was the just the first step in what proved to be a long procedure. Next, the old man ducked behind the counter, and with the knowledge that experience brings, he selected a narrow box and presented it to the girl. The mother looked on, but didn't interfere, as the girl rolled up the sleeves of her robes (secondhand like his, Mason noted) and flicked the wand this way and then that. Nothing happened. The old man frowned and presented another wand. The girl looked very determined, and this time jabbed forward like a fencer. There was a bang, and a vase next to the old man shattered. Mrs. Hall jumped, but on one else in the shop did. "Happens two or three times a week," the man muttered.

Several other attempts followed, with varying degrees of success, until the girl grabbed a wand and her eyes widened. Before she even made a move, the old man practically squeaked his approval. "Quite the event, Ms. Prewett. Yes, yes. Seems the wands are getting more and more picky as of late. Can't be helped, of course, nothing wrong with it. Why last year, in fact..."

Mason heard the woman say something about 'measley' as his mum dragged him away from the counter. "Son, this is all quite mad. Why don't we come back later?"

Mason sagged. "Mum, you spend longer picking out a pair of heels. And we've been in here three times already. The lines aren't going to be any shorter. I can do it myself it you want." Mason had never seen his mother perk up so suddenly. "Yes, quite," she said, brushing past him without a backwards glance, "just ring for me when you're ready."

Grasping her recently acquired wand, the girl tweaked a curious eyebrow at Mason, then crooked a thumb after his retreating mother' back. Mason shrugged noncommittally. The girl laughed into her sleeve, then followed her mom out after they paid. The old man turned slowly, seeing Mason for the first time just now, it seemed. "Well now, what do we have here? Come, then, boy. Mustn't keep the wands waiting. First year at Hogwarts, yes? A propensity for mischief and bother, I expect. Excellent! First years are my specialty. Of course, most of the young wizards and witches I groom are just that-first years. But of course, there is always the random mage that misuses, breaks, or - dare I say - abuses their wand. A much more complicated and compelling case, they are, return customers, that is. But come, come! We have so much to learn! Now, right arm out..."

Mason walked toward the old man eagerly, holding out his right arm. His eyes took in every detail as he went to claim his own magic wand.

Things had moved rather quickly for Mason after he received first Hogwarts letter. In the three days that he 'camped out' at Mrs. Covington's guest room, two more letters had arrived for him. The first, a simple copy of the first, included a line directing any his mother to ask any questions in the space provided. The next, Mason surmised, included a financial aid form, because when he arrived back home (to much scolding and grounding) his mother hesitantly informed him that it was possible that he would be attending this warty hog school after all. The trip to greater London, and specifically Diagon Alley, came that weekend, and Mason was sorry when it was over.

But here he stood now, full trolley ahead of him, purple Plex the Toad riding shotgun, and a brand new magic wand in his possession: gnarled birch, seven-and-one-quarter inches, core of veela hair. Mason loved it (even though he had not one clue what a veela was). A particularly large knot near the base fit his index finger like a glow, the curve of the haft fitting into his palm like it had grown there. A smile split his face again as he thought of pointing _this _stick in Jack Sloper's face. True, he didn't know what to do with it, but that wasn't the point.

Mason's wristwatch buzzed against his skin and pulled him out of his reverie. Ten o'clock. His mother was already late to work, so he'd been dropped off early. The train didn't leave for another hour. Mason felt the whole world open up for him as he lugged his trolley into the station.

End Chapter One

AN: Reviews welcome! What do you think of Mason? I hope no one minds the 'slow' start. I know JK's world is familiar to many of us now, but through the eyes of another eleven year old, it's all shiny and new, and I think that's part of the appeal of this world: a story that can be old or new at any time...next comes Mason's journey from platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters! Cheers! And Merry Christmas (or whatever holiday you celebrate) to one and all! Good night!


	3. Chapter 2: Transitions

AN: Hope you all had a very Merry Christmas. For anyone wondering, this is my first fanfic, and I apologize for technical issues (not knowing how to put in a time-break, forgetting disclaimers). JK Rowling owns and rules all things Hogwarts. Of course, HP, and all other canon characters are hers alone. They may make cameos in my OC, but they're not mine. Beginning this chapter, we meet some of Mason's classmates. Other than Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Colin Creevy, I've created this whole year's roster, all houses, all 40+ students.

ON WITH THE SHOW!

**Under the Long Shadow**

Chapter Two: Transitions

_The best thing about being small is that no one notices you._

The platform at King's Cross London station was beyond busy. Mason had never seen so many people just...moving. This was where people caught trains to be whisked to work, school, home, a relative's place, or just across town. Other people arrived in droves, spilling out like water released from a dam. They all had destinations, agendas, places to go, people to see. But to Mason it just looked like a big, noisy, confusing mess of movement. He liked it. Crowds always gave him time to think. They gave him time to flip surreptitiously through some textbooks. Most importantly, it gave him the opportunity to know what to do next.

Arriving on the platform, Mason had had a temporary moment of panic when he realized there was no Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. Ignoring the station guard - a man seemingly polite, abrasive and dismissive all at once - Mason wheeled over to a bench and just watched. He did this a lot. Sitting and watching brought him more answers than running around half-cocked. The best thing was to look like you knew exactly what was going on. People left you alone that way.

Mason was leafing through his _Magical Theory _text when his patience was rewarded. A severe-looking crone was leading a round-faced boy about by the collar. The crone was dressed in a high-necked, old-fashioned longcoat, elbow length gloves and hearty boots. The boy wore an abashed look, which Mason noticed long before his worn trainers and threadbare elbowed sweater registered. An attendant pushed a trolley along behind them, and on it Mason saw a large trunk...and a toad! Mason held his book up a little higher, watched, and listened.

"-come along, boy! How can one so small walk so slowly?"

"-but Gran, I wanna hold Trevor-"

"-you will wait! Your backside will get on that train first! We will _not_ have a repeat of last year-"

Mason blinked. The conversation had stopped dead. Not only that, the crone and the round-faced boy had disappeared! If Mason hadn't been watching, he would have missed in completely. One second they were there, and then they weren't. Mason stared. Was it some kind of spell? Mason thought of his wand in his carryall. He didn't know any spells yet. He thought about digging in his trunk for his spellbook, but it was somewhere near the bottom. Then he noticed something; the attendant was still on the platform, trolley, toad and all. The attendant, Mason guessed in his late teens, stood awkwardly, drumming his fingers on the trolley guide, gaze fixed on the blank stone wall before him. The attendant was muttering and adjusting his oversized cap.

Mason kicked off his trolley's brakes and wheeled it right up to the older boy. The attendant couldn't be more than a year older than Marcus, and his acne was just as bad.

"-swear, this is th' last year I'm slaving here. I should be a cabbie. Or run a double-decker. Maybe a gondolier..."

"Oi! You gonna stand around all day? Some of us have a schedule!" Mason gave the attendant his most annoyed look, the one he used to get under Marcus's skin.

The attendant slowly looked down at him. "Blimey. You're as bad as that old bag." He gestured at the wall in front of him. "Well, I've got te' wait for the threshold te' be clear, now 'aven't I? Last thing I want is te' end up in old lady Longbottom's lap!

Mason's mind whirled. Like usual, just pretending like you knew what was going on worked like a charm. It made sense now - platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters was quite literally in between platforms Nine and Ten. There was some sort of hidden magic doorway _in_ the wall. Mason was going to have to get used to thinking in a whole new dimension. The Longbottom lady and her boy must have actually...walked through the wall!

"Well, hasn't the threshold cleared by now?" Mason tapped his toe to add effect.

The attendant - Stan, by his nametag - yanked a bit at his collar. "Well now, yeah, maybe. It should be. Maybe I might have been waiting, y'know, just a little longer than I need to. Te' be sure, is all. Not 'cause I'm wantin' te' put as much space 'tween me and that old, wrinkled-"

"Good, it's clear then." Mason felt his gut tighten as he gripped the trolley and stepped into the wall.

Mason didn't know what he expected. A flash of light? A beam of energy whisking him away? Angels singing? Instead, there was a brief sensation like a slight breeze against his skin, and then he was through.

_Like falling off my bike, _Mason thought. Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters looked like any other train platform, only magnified. Noises, human, animal and otherwise, blended with the hoots and whistles from the great, red steam engine idling on the track. Everyone here was dressed so strangely, colors and patterns so vivid. The exception being the crone ahead of him, dabbing at a stain on her boy's cardigan.

Suddenly something whizzed by, causing Mason to duck. A large, grey owl zoomed overhead, landing on the newsstand roof. Seconds later, a paper airplane passed by, dive-bombing the owl with unerring accuracy. Plane met owl beak - no more plane. Nearby, a man in a loud orange cloak sneezed, and propelled himself inches off the ground. Further on, a bunch of pomegranates seemed to be juggling themselves. _Definitely _not_ like falling off my bike._

Even though it was quarter of, the train seemed to be filling up fast. Mason wheeled along until he found a throng of people unloading similar trunks. Getting his own trunk into the bay wouldn't be too hard. It seemed like everyone was cramming for room, but some of the bigger kids were taking up more than their share. Others of them were nicer and helping littler kids. Mason pulled out another 'little brother' card. He pulled up to the bay and stood there looking helpless. He thought about pinching himself to produce tears, when a large boy took pity on him and muscled his trunk aboard.

"Thanks, sir."

The boy grinned at him. "Sir? Well, that's enough of that. No 'sir' for me. Name's Wood." He stuck out his large, calloused palm.

"Names would what?" Mason replied, shaking the offered hand.

The grin widened. "That's me. Wood, Oliver. Oliver Wood."

"Mason Hall. Pleasure."

"Likewise," the boy turned, hefting a polished broomstick over his shoulder. Mason goggled. _Definitely not like my bike._

Inside, the narrow corridor seemed bursting with humanity. Alternatively stepped on and stepping upon others, Mason was swept up in the tide of people until it deposited him into a compartment.

"Cheers," said the boy sitting by the window. He was perhaps an inch or two taller than Mason, slightly darker of skin and hair, and wore glasses. Mason wished he could tan. It seemed like the sun avoided him. Marcus often teased him about this, saying he was 'almost Scottish', and called him 'pale blue'. Nothing about him was blue. His short hair was brown, his large eyes were hazel. Marcus got the green eyes in the family, but Mason always thought they made him look like a poof.

"Well met," Mason tossed back. Getting up on his tiptoes, he levered his carryall into the overhead, and sat the terrarium on the seat next to him. "I'm Mason."

"Z," the tan boy said, shaking his hand.

"Z?" Mason echoed. "That a wizard thing?"

Reclining in the seat, the boy called Z shrugged. "It's a family thing. I'm stuck with it. Got used to it, mostly, when I was...five? My folks are a bit out there." Z made loop-de-loops by his head to illustrate. "You never met a wizard named 'Z' before today, have you?"

It was Mason's turn to shrug. "I've never met a wizard at all before today."

Z's eyes got big. "Truly? You're Muggleborn then?"

"Muggle?"

"Non-magic folk. I call 'em Norms, Flats, Static, Drips, Ties, Bolts, Runts, Stews, Nords, Miks, Flips, Ticks, and Nods. Me mum likes to cane me for that, though. She says I shouldn't make fun. Keeps reminding me I coulda been born like my second cousin, not a lick of magic in him. He's a sprocket sinus or something like that."

Apparently Z liked to talk, which was fine by Mason. He soaked all the information up like a sponge. "A rocket scientist?" he ventured.

"Right, that's it! Bet you'd get and O in Muggle Studies, once you hit third year, anyways."

"Muggle Studies? They - we - study people without magic? Bolts? Muggles, I mean? I thought we went here to study magic."

Z cocked an eyebrow at him. "You really are new to this, aren'tcha? Muggle Studies is just one class. My sister says it's fascinating, but she's always been a little bit-"

"-out there?" Mason guessed.

"You got it," Z smiled. "I'm looking forward to Transfiguration myself. Ollivander said this is perfect for it." Z pulled his wand out of his sleeve and beamed at it.

"What's wrong?" Z asked, noticing Mason's furrowed brow.

"Nothing's wrong. It's just, well, are they all so different?" Standing on the seat, Mason fished his own wand out, showing it to Z. "Nice. Maple?"

"Birch," Mason said.

"Wizard. Mine's oak, eight-and-three-quarter inches, salamander heartstring. Got it right the first try. Ollivander said it was the first time that'd happened in my family."

"Is your whole family wizards?"

Z made to reply, but just then, the compartment door slammed open, and they both flinched. A tall, lanky girl with dark hair stood there, her stare fixed on Z. If looks could kill, Mason was sure Z would stop breathing any moment.

"Hey, Abby, this is-"

"Where's my puff?" the girl screeched at him.

"Really? Still with that? I don't have it, and I care with Fig says, I don't know where your silly little-"

"I'm going to find it, you know!" the girl, Abby, broke in again. "And when I do, so help me, you little Squib..." She brandished her own wand, and Mason thought for a second it would come to death magic blasting them both to nothingness. Abby fairly crackled with pent up energy. Z, amazingly, still sat slouched, a look between amusement and disapproval on his face. Then, like a whip, Abby whirled away and slammed the door shut with much more force than was necessary.

"My sister, Abby," Z said apologetically. "Witch. Seventh year. Slytherin."

Z said this like it should mean something to Mason, whom nodded sagely. "She makes my brother look cheerful. Glad I don't have a sister."

"Want some? I've got six. All witches." They both had a good laugh over that. After that, Z went on to explain what a 'puff' was (it was nothing like a 'poof') after Mason's insistence. Mason had a lot to learn. He knew more than most in primary school about dogs, cats and toads (although a purple toad was new to him), but he'd never heard of Pygmy Puffs, Blast-End Skrewts, or Acromantula. "There's a class for that, too, but not 'til third year," Z explained. Even though it was his first year going to Hogwarts also, Z had learned a lot secondhand through his six older sisters whom all attended too. "Except for Gracie, 'course. She's been out a couple years now, studies wandcraft abroad." Z went on to talk a little about her, whom he liked best, he said. "Or at least _she_ likes _me_ best, it seems." He was like a walking, talking - and hardly pausing for breathing - font of magical knowledge. Conversely, Z was fascinated by 'all things Muggle', and Mason entertained him with stories of fire extinguishers, roller coasters and toaster ovens.

The door slid open again, nicely this time.

"Not full up, eh? Mind if we cram in?"

Mason and Z welcomed in the new arrivals, a blonde boy and girl, obviously siblings, and helped make room for them in the compartment. Mason put his terrarium between his feet.

"Is that a phloborous phenecticus?"

At first Mason thought the girl had sneezed, but saw she was looking at his toad.

"Um, I don't know really. He's...well, he's purple. And he's cool, check out what he can do." Mason loosened the lid and carefully pulled the large purple toad out. The toad sat, quite contentedly, staring at all the humans. Gently, Mason ran his thumb over his lumpy, dry back, showing that just after making contact, the lumps changed color, into a deep red hue. "See? That means he's happy. He's a mood toad."

"Actually," the girl said, "photoreaction has nothing to do with the toad's pheromone balance. It's a simple morphogenic process that helps the toad store and process energy."

Mason looked sharply at her. "What was your name again?"

"Chloe," she said slowly, even though they hadn't been introduced and this wasn't 'again'.

"Bradley," the boy supplied.

"Nice to meet you, Bradley, and ...Chloe, catch!"

Screams filled the compartment as Mason pretended to hurl Plex at her. Z and Chloe's brother Bradley found this hilarious and both ended up on the floor in tears. Chloe's cheeks turned red, but even she giggled after a minute. "What's his name?" she asked once she'd collected herself.

"Plex, because-"

"Oooh! Named after Ellesmere Meftplex, the famous wizard of Arthimancy who...um, who...is famous for..." Chloe trailed off as she noticed all three boys looking at her. "Throw the toad at her again," snorted Z. Chloe backed away a few inches.

"Actually, Chloe, he's named after amplexus, or the 'love hug', which is the name for the position the male toad takes when, um...when...y'know, when they..." Mason's ears turned beet red when he saw the look on Chloe's face.

"When tadpoles are made," Z finished, then burst out laughing. The rest joined in, getting a nice, big group laugh out of it. They were still laughing when a loud whistle blasted through the air, and the train gave a sudden, mighty lurch. They were off! Mason's heart gave an accompanying, massive lurch. This was it. Bound for a school of magic, where everything was fancy and new, with new friends, new possibilities. He was excited for what might happen next.

The compartment door slid open again, and this time a small girl, gasping with exertion, tumbled in to a stop. Mason recognized her at once. It was that girl from the wand shop. Her flaming hair matched her flushed cheeks.

"Almost - didn't - make it," she said between breaths. Then she ran and squashed herself up against the window, waving frantically at the platform as it disappeared from view. Mason saw two redheaded adults waving back. Even from this distance, he could see their eyes shining.

The redhead girl turned from the window, glowing with the elation of bittersweet joy. She just now seemed to notice the other occupants. "Hi!" she said brightly. "Great to meet you! I'm Ginny. Ginny Weasley."

END CHAPTER TWO, END CHAPTER TWO, END CHAPTER TWO

AN: Ok, hope you like this scene. Unless no one's made the connection yet, this is Ginny's first year at Hogwarts, when the Weasleys were running late, and Harry and Ron missed the train. I'm striving for a balance of the familiar and the new. I don't want to rehash all of HP's old storylines, but I don't want to be so far removed from the established canon that all you readers go, "this isn't Harry Potter." (as *I* have while reading some of the stuff I've found here)! FIRST FANFIC! PLEASE REVIEW, EVEN IF IT'S TO SAY, "Wow, this sucks." Thank you!


	4. Chapter 3: 40 or 50's a Crowd

Repetitive Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Hogwarts, and all things Harry Potter, and she is the overseer, lord, and goddess of all...she just lets us all play here. Mason Hall, my focal OC, is mine. The 40+ members of Ginny Weasley's class, minus herself, Luna Lovegood, and Colin Creevy, are my creations too - let's not go into the whole "how many students are there at Hogwarts 280/1000/600?" We'll never know! - Other canon JK characters will make cameos.

AN: First time fanfic! Anybody got anything to say? Welcome all criticism/reviews. Thanks.

**Under the Long Shadow**

Chapter 3: Forty or Fifty's a Crowd

_I've never had a fun birthday party, but if I had, this is what it would be like._

The compartment was so loud now. After Ginny arrived, a girl named Mione (Mason surmised - like he said, it was loud) came in and hugged her like a sister. Then a couple of older redheads, twin boys, came in and messed with Ginny's hair and kept making 'hairy' jokes. They introduced themselves as Gred and Forge. And they brought noisemakers. After them came a friend of theirs, Lee something, and then his friend and that friend's friend. It was then that Mason realized something: they were all sitting in the same train compartment. From his spot by the window, Mason looked over the growing field of heads. He stopped counting in the teens.

Leaning forward, he motioned for Z's attention. It took a few tries. The Cook siblings were in deep conversation with him about the next Kid-Itch trials, so it seemed.

"How is this possible?"

"Well," Z started in, "the Chudley Cannons' recruiting policies are completely out of whack. I don't know where they're supposed to get good players if they only take one or two students from Hogwarts a year. And where do the reserve players come from? If they're not recruiting, who's paying for advertisement? Y'know?"

Mason blinked several times in rapid succession. "Right. But I meant this," he swept a hand to indicate the interior. Z shrugged. "Parties follow the Weasley Twins, so I hear. It just happens."

Trying one more time, Mason composed himself, and asked, "No, I meant the train! This compartment. These people! All this. How is it possible?

Z looked genuinely confused for a second, then smirked. "Magic." And that's all he said. Mason sat there for a minute or two, trying to wrap his mind around it, but then he gave up. There was a shriek from next to him. Plex, his toad, had landed on someone's head. Mason waded through the impossible crowd and lifted him to safety. All around him, students were comparing robes, enchanting earrings to talk, brandishing wands and saying things in weird languages. Then someone shouted, "Broom limbo!" (Mason was pretty sure it was Gred), and a collective cheer went up. Someone passed him a tin of something that looked like chocolate, but tasted like peppered bacon and eggs and turned his tongue red and gold.

The Mione girl said this wasn't an atmosphere conducive to homework and left after awhile. Mason did too, but for entirely different reasons. First and foremost, he needed to use the loo. He'd been sitting at King's Cross for an hour, and then whisked here. Plus, he wasn't used to fifty plus bodies in his space - their breath, voices, and various odors.

Stepping out into the corridor, he was almost flattened by a large, orange cat that bowled him by as if it owned the place. Then a gaggle of giggling girls raced by, completely ignoring him. Mason just leaned against the compartment door, feeling it vibrate with jubilation. Wasn't there a 'maximum occupancy' sign anywhere?

Just when he thought he'd explode, Mason found the loo and walked. Then walked back out. Then back in. The place was _huge_. Mason had never seen so many stalls or urinals at one time. There was some kind of weird music being piped in, played over big, bronze gramophones. Mason did his business, and after washing his hands - the basin admonished him to "scrub those nails, mister. Filthy, filthy, filthy!" - trudged down the aisle, away from the party car.

He should feel happy. He should feel overjoyed! This was a world beyond his greatest imaginings, far beyond his expectations. But it didn't feel real. He didn't feel like a wizard. He didn't feel special. He felt like he was waiting for the rug to be yanked out from under him. He felt like he'd been awake for a week. Was there something funny in that pepper-chocolate concoction? Maybe not all the wizards and witches in the world were wise and good. Surely this school had bullies, just like his old one.

"Anything from the trolley, dear?"

Mason snapped back into reality. He'd just about walked into an old woman. She was pushing what looked like a carnival on wheels. Brightly colored things, wiggly things, humming and popping things. All the sights and scents of a rainbow. Grateful for the distraction, he inquired after the prices of a few of the safer looking items. A handful of candy wands later, he was still walking toward the tail. Did the Hogwarts' Express have a caboose? Was he still in the same car? Was he still on the same planet?

Mason glanced out the corridor portholes. Fields, trees, rocks. They could be anywhere by now. Where was home?

Turning around, Mason was confronted by the strangest sight: a completely silent room. He looked closer. Inside the compartment, a huge picture window looked out over a magnificent waterfall. What? A _waterfall? _But there was no waterfall! A second later, he was looking at the night sky. The next, he was atop the London Eye, gazing down over the Thames. He reeled back after that one. Heights and Mason did not mix well. Intrigued, Mason slid the door open.

The inside of the compartment reminded Mason of the high-class hotel the family had booked for the World Cup a few years back. The rug here was light and clean, and glass-topped tables dotted the room. The walls were lined with plush couches. The lighting was muted. Mason thought he heard birds, wind rushing through treetops, the occasional wave.

There was only one other person in the room.

Mason slowly approached the table. A girl, dark hair, small nose, slight shoulders, sat with her feet tucked under her, gazing at the changing picture window. She had a roll of parchment in front of her. There was a quill tucked behind her left ear.

"Do you know a five-letter word for impolitely observing someone from middle-to close distance?"

Her voice surprised Mason. He supposed that after the racket back in the compartment, one solitary voice shouldn't have. But being immersed in the relative quiet of this...viewing room?...had put him off balance. And her voice, bossy and bored at the same time, was the oddest mix. Did she expect an answer? Mason was used to dealing with guys.

"Um," he said, realizing his throat was dry.

"That's two letters." The girl hadn't turned around. She was still looking at the viewer. "And it's not even a real word."

"Focus? Rivet?" Mason was actually pretty good at word games. "Sorry." That was all he could think of.

"That last one doesn't work," the girl said, and at last turned toward him. Her eyes were watery blue. Or was that the reflection off the viewer? The Thames was back, so it was hard to tell. "And I was looking for 'stare', but I forgive you anyway."

Confusing must have shown on his face, because the girl fixed him with a froggy grin. "You stepped in my _muffliato_."

Now even more confused, Mason looked down at his trainers. "Did I get any on me?"

The girl hid her mouth behind her hand. She shook some. Mason guessed he'd said something funny. "It's a spell. It creates a kind of a...spongy wall around an area, and blocks out noise. You're new, aren't you?"

Mason sighed. Was it that obvious to everyone?

The girl pushed out another chair. "Sit."

Mason hesitated, but it didn't seem like she was being mean. Not really. "I am so new. To everything. To magic, to magic trains, to moving walls, to multi-flavored treats and magic wands that choose _you_, to funny words and funnier names, purple toads - although those are really cool, and I have one, and he's _so_ cool - and owls and cats and flying brooms, and...and...and I miss my mum." He stopped and realized he needed a breath. That had all just tumbled out of him before he knew it. He guessed he'd been thinking that for awhile now, ever since she dropped him of at the edge of the car park. it felt strange to say all that to complete stranger. The girl was looking at him most curiously.

"I'm seven," she said.

Mason peered at her. "Why are you here then? I thought students had to be eleven to attend."

She smiled again, but with pure, unabashed humor this time. "Actually, I'm twelve. My name is Seven, mate. Seven Duffy. And you are?" She held out a hand. Mason had to give it to these wizards and witches; they were polite almost to a fault. He'd shook more hands this afternoon than all summer previous. "Mason Hall."

"Well, Mason Hall, let me tell you something. Today's my birthday. Now because of that, I had to wait a whole extra year to go to Hogwarts because of some silly rule. My sister is in her sixth year, and I helped her study for her owls all last Easter, and even though I've had a wand for a year now, couldn't use it until I got on this train, because of another silly rule. My little sibs are going to be coming her next year, and I won't be able to rub my Hogsmeade slip in their faces like I wanted to. My friends will be in different classes than I will. My sister was Perfect of her House last year. Twelve owls, high marks all the way through. She's a Beater on the House Quidditch team. Because I'm a twelve-year-old first year, I can't have a broom even though I've been running drills with her all summer. The bar is set incredibly high for me and all I am is frustrated. And, yes, I miss my da' like crazy. What do you say to that?"

Mason was glad he'd sat down. "Um, Happy Birthday?" he said, offering her a candy wand.

She looked at him for about a year, but took the wand with the smallest of smiles. "Thank you."

Mason bit into his wand. Root beer. "You're welcome. You know, you're very articulate."

Seven shrugged. "You write all the introductions for a fifth year's essays, you enlarge your vocabulary. And you said 'articulate' correctly, so right back atcha."

Mason chomped on his wand for a bit. "Your sister has twelve owls?"

Seven smiled around a mouthful of wand. "It's what they call fifth-year exams. I know, dumb name. Confusing as a troll in a bathroom." Mason laughed at the ridiculous image.

"No, really. It happened last year, at Halloween. Troll in the bathroom. My sis told me all about it."

She was serious. "Why was there a troll in a bathroom?" Mason asked, amazed.

Shrug. "Dunno. Like I said, confusing. But crazy stuff is always happening at Hogwarts. You just gotta accept that there are things out there that want to eat your face off. Check, next please."

Mason found her conversation style unique. "So did you perform that muffy-auto spell?"

She gestured at a small, opaque crystal centerpiece on the table. "Charmed, semi-permanent basis. They recharge them every time the train picks us up. I'd like to be able to do it myself." Mason didn't ask, but the question must've been plain on his face. Reaching down, Seven retrieved her wand from the pack resting at her feet. It looked like a large animal had used it as a chew toy. "Twelve inches, rosewood and unicorn hair. It's my oldest sister's wand. She got a new one when she graduated last year, and I got this, ironically, seven-year old...thing. It's alright, but it doesn't work for me like it did for her. Where's yours?"

"Back at the party."

"Weasleys?" she guessed. Mason gaped. "Sabin - that's my sixth-year sis - went out with one of them once. Not much of a stretch. There's like ten or twelve of them, I think. Who really knows? Hogwarts has around six hundred students, give or take. I'm pretty sure every ginger you'll come across is related to them somehow. You have family then?"

Keeping up with Seven's thought process was stimulating. "Brother, mother. Both Muggles."

"It's me, Sarah (that's my sis that graduated), Sabin, my little bro Safford (seeing a pattern here?) and - get this - my little sis September. That's right, I'm born in September and she's born in - what month? May - and they call _her_ September. Bit of a shock, you coming here, was it?"

"Was it ever! When, whathisname, Professor Picnic-

"-Flitwick-"

"-right! When he showed up, all knee-high and squeaky, my mum nearly stroked out right there. Of course she had to take me to Diagon Alley herself, didn't want to let me out of her sight, but didn't want to _do_ anything, so that made it hard, y'know? She got the wizard money thing okay, but she didn't want to spend any of it. She still thinks it's all pretend or something, like she's waiting to wake up. But she woke up when I bought Plex."

"Plex?"

"My toad. He's purple."

"Ah, yes, very nice. Named him after amplexus, right?"

"That's right." This time, Mason's ears didn't get all hot. Well, not too much anyway. "Say, what's Kid-Itch anyways?"

Seven took another preparatory breath, and Mason knew he was in for quite a story. And the train drove on.

END CHAPTER, END CHAPTER, END CHAPTER

AN: Are my chapters too short? Too long? Too talky? Hello? Is there anybody out there? What do you all think of the characters? Should I include more of Rowling's canon? Or...? Well, that's enough for now.


	5. Chapter 4: In the Dark

AN: The new year kind of got away from me there. I've moved and changed jobs, and writing kind of fell by the wayside. To establish some sense of normalcy, I think we all need a new Mason Hall chapter to help us get through the week! Of course, JK Rowling owns all things Hogwarts and Harry Potter. I'm just playing here and having fun. Enjoy Mason's first stumbling steps into Hogwarts!

Under the Long Shadow

Chapter Four: In the Dark

_I wonder if all the famous witches and wizards in the world had this much trouble putting on their robes..._

"Is it straight yet, Z?" Mason had never worn a robe in his life, and the thing reminded him of the picnic table covers his family used at the park. He'd never been able to fold those silly things right either. Maybe he shouldn't have tried to do this in the pitch black. Maybe he shouldn't have waited until the last minute. Maybe he shouldn't have waited until he was on a boat, in the middle of a dark lake.

"I don't know if that's the head hole. I think maybe it's just a hole." Z's voice said somewhere near Mason's elbow. "I still don't know why you didn't get dressed earlier." The Cook twins echoed this sentiment in the dark as Mason's movements caused the small dingy to teeter and sway.

"I was distracted," Mason said wearily. Was it his fault that he found everything in the wizarding world so new and fascinating? He wanted to drink it all up, soak it in, bask. But that was proving next to impossible so far. The wizarding world did not wait for anybody. It all moved at a speed that was, well, magical! And it seemed there wasn't any learning curve allowed.

Mason hadn't even realized they'd arrived until Z had come bursting into the viewing car in full Hogwarts uniform, looking harried and bothered. 

One Hour Ago...

"There you are! I'm not gonna lug this thing all the way up to the castle! And why haven't you changed yet? Chloe was oozing all over Puck here, y'know, and I had to practically pry him out of her chubby hands. The Weasleys left awhile back, but they left a mess you wouldn't believe! I feel for whomever has to clean this train...why is this place so quiet? If it weren't so, so, _soft_, you could hear a Werkkblat werk."

As he'd learned, Mason just let Z's tirade wash over him before offering a response. He mused that perhaps Z wasn't so different from all his siblings as he claimed: they all seemed to talk a lot, about things to which they expected answers.

"Thanks for watching after Plex, Z," Mason said, grasping the cage Z was hefting. Plex burped in a bothered way at Mason, then closed his eyes. "This is Seven."

Z seemed to notice for the first time that there was someone else in the compartment. "Pleasure," he said offhandedly, while Seven doodled with her quill and waved at him. "C'mon, mate! Time to get a move on! You don't want to be last in. The Sorting takes forever already, and if you're last in line, your feet will go numb by the time it's your turn."

Mason nodded sagely yet again at information that was all second nature to Z, but completely foreign to him. Rolling out his neck and stretching, he realized he'd been talking to Seven for quite some time. "We've stopped then?"

Again, Z seemed to belatedly take in his surroundings. "Wow, it's quiet in here. Never been in here before. I thought the Relaxation Pod was reserved for fifth years and up? Huh, no wonder you didn't know. This place is like the inside of a cloud. We could have wrecked and you'd never know until you woke up dead."

Mason cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at Seven. She had the belated good sense to look guilty. "Off limits for first years? Really? Okay, my sister might have taught me a thing or two," she said, slipping her secondhand wand back into her bag. Gathering her things, she scooted her chair back. "I guess I should get on my robes."

"You both should," Z said, shooing Mason toward the door. Indeed, the corridor was bereft of the insane amount of traffic Mason had plied before. Their old compartment was empty. The people had gone, but a mess of debris and detritus remained to mark their passing. Mason smelled something lingering in the air, like the scent after the rain. A discarded candy wand lay half-eaten on the ground, and it honked when Mason stepped on it. In the far corner, a lone turquoise throw pillow coughed feebly. _Must've been some party._

Mason's carryall was thankfully where he'd left it, miraculously untouched by the human storm. His wand went in his pocket for now, as he tried his best to disentangle and straighten his robes. Holding the hem by his teeth, his extended the arms as much as possible and tried to shake out about a thousand years of static cling. His mother had flatly refused to wash his school clothes prior to his boarding the train. In fact, she had hardly spoken to Mason at all, and had studiously avoided anything regarding Hogwarts.

"Wow, you weren't joking. What a mess," Seven said, leaning in through the compartment doorway. Her robes seemed nicely settled on her slight frame. She took in the scene with a seeming mixture of envy and disbelief. She seemed unwilling to enter the compartment fully. Her wand came up, and Mason felt himself tense by reflex.

"_Scourgify_," Seven intoned, and a miniature windstorm seemed to appear in the car. Wrappers, powders, candies, smears, stains and other mess twinkled and then disappeared as the effect of Seven's spell washed over them. In seconds, Mason was standing in a perfectly clean train car. Even his robes seemed cleaner.

Z whistled. "Nice. Haven't been able to master that one myself. It's not a standard first year spell, is it?"

Seven shrugged. "Hardly anything about my life is standard."

"Where did everything go?" Mason wondered.

Z and Seven traded a look. Mason sighed. "I know, I've got New Guy disease don't I?"

"Thoroughly," Seven nodded.

"New guy, new species, new life form..." Z trailed off, grinning.

"Am I the only one here that didn't come from a big wizarding family?" Mason complained as he brushed stuck bits off his crumpled robes.

"Probly not," Z answered, busily looping a tie through its paces, "though most students have some inkling as to what's what and which end of their wand to hold, and how to keep a hold on their toad."

"Wha-?" Mason whirled around, and felt his stomach drop as he spotted large, purple blur leap out of sight at the end of the train car. "Plex!" he yelled.

"Does he expect it to answer?" Seven inquired.

Z shrugged. "New Guy disease can manifest itself in a plethora of ways. Let's see how many things we can get him to talk to..."

Their voices fell away as Mason launched himself down the corridor in search of his toad. He found himself on his knees, scrabbling around under the stalls back in the lavatory car – "this is a washroom, not a gymnasium!" the room admonished him – chasing after Plex's long, slimy legs. Finally, getting a hold, Mason straightened up, banged his head on a sink, and blinked. He was sure the washroom was paying him back for misusing its facilities, somehow.

Somehow keeping his grip on Plex, Mason wound his way back to the car where he'd left his robes in a pile. Seven and Z had gone, and apparently taken his things with them. Mason gripped Plex in one hand, tightly enough to produce red spots his purple hide, and balled up his robes in the other, and ran for the exit.

The Hogwarts Station was small, sat on the border of a knot of trees and overlooked a magnificent lake. It was very un-London-like. His mother would hate it. Mason smelled fresh pine and other trees he couldn't identify, heard sounds from owls – some caged, some wild – and felt a gentle ripple of wind. Vague human sounds came from the far end of the platform, punctuated by a voice calling, "Oi! Mason! Down here, mate! Make tracks!"

Z appeared, looking like just another shadow, waving.

Mason joined him, finding him poised over a pile of assorted luggage. "Drop your toad off here. Don't worry. They'll get it all back to you once we're inside." Mason goggled at the small, thin, long-eared beings crawling in and amongst the luggage pile – their gigantic, probing eyes staring back at him without blinking – before depositing Plex in his terrarium, and letting Z drag him down a narrow path in the dark.

Mason heard a deep voice ahead of them booming. "Four to a boat! Four to a boat! Hurry it up now!"

Z herded him over to the edge of the dark lake, where they found the Cook siblings, Chloe and Bradley, sitting in their robes, astride the front row of a small, sparse dingy. Mason gulped.

"Come on, come on. In! Don't want to miss this! One time event, this is! Brad, mate, can you hit the lantern there? Don't wanna miss a step just now, do we? Yep, there now, all better. Well, come on, mate, grab a sit!"

Z had tucked himself nicely into the back bench of the tiny boat. Mason saw a small fleet of identical boats, already plying their way out across the dark. _That is one big lake,_ Mason thought. Tentatively, Mason put a foot in the boat, felt it lurch in time with his stomach, and fairly well collapsed onto the bench beside Z.

Z arched one dark brow at him. "Left your sea legs in the luggage?"

A horrible thought struck Mason as the little boat pitched forward. "Z, this school's not out there, is it? I mean, out in the water?"

"Nah, mate. It's just this is the way first years get there. My sisters have all told me about it, their first sight of Hogwarts. Keep an eye out, now: once we come around this first corner, you'll see. Breathtaking, it'll be."

Mason tried to get his insides to agree with the rocking of the ship and unravel his robes while the other occupants of the boat earnestly discussed what they were going to eat at the Welcome Feast. With the state his stomach was in now, Mason couldn't imagine putting down much of anything, not even ice cream. Mason had a frightful image spring to mind: him, in front of the whole school, emptying his stomach in nervous tension all over their feasting.

"Help me get this on, will you?"

Z sighed. "Okay, but be quick about it. I don't wanna miss the show." 

"I think I got it," Mason said from inside the mound of fabric. "No, wait, that's just a burst seam."

"Hey, you're rocking the boat!" Chloe's frightened voice said nearby.

"I thought the Black Lake was supposed to be calm." That was Bradley's voice, near hers. Mason heard tension there, too.

"It is," Z said a little impatiently. "And the boats themselves are spelled to make the journey swiftly and smoothly, but they usually don't have occupants doing exercises in them either."

Inside the tent his robes had become, Mason scowled. "I think my mum got the wrong size. I can't find the exit." He waved his arms again, looking for an armhole. Again, the boat lurched.

"Hey, watch it!" someone yelled. The shout was echoed all around the boat. Mason started to apologize when another voice cut in.

"Oops, did we make contact? So sorry, thought that you had a signpost aboard there, didn't we?"

Mason knew a bully when he heard one. Frustrated beyond belief, he yanked the whole robe-y mess off and balled it up again. It was cold out on the lake.

An identical boat, full of robed forms, had bumped into their own vessel. On its prow stood a boy with hair that should have its own time zone. Mason was captivated by the sight of it, before moving on to his face. It might be handsome if not for the sneer and the glint in the eyes. Mason recognized the glint: he'd seen it in Marcus's eyes on many occasion. Behind the well-coiffed boy, three indistinct blobs laughed the half-hearted laugh of followers. So this was the alpha dog, leaning up against the lantern stand at the bow.

"Hey, mate. Don't mind us none. Just trying to get a good look, we were," Z said, his manner suggesting he was used to such treatment.

The alpha was having none of it. "Oh, so were we. We wanted to see what was so special about this boat." The alpha's eyes, dark and deep set, peered at Mason. "Oh, you've got a rat aboard! Now, that's quite a sight. And look, it brought a rag to sleep on. How wonderful."

Mason felt blood pounding in his ears. He took a step forward, not noticing the boat rocking.

Suddenly the alpha had a wand out. "Whoa, the rat's trying to jump ship. Better watch your step, rat. It's a long way down."

Mason saw so many faces then: Marcus, Kyle, Jack. They all blurred into place, and Mason acted. Z was shouting something, Chloe was tugging at his shirt, the blobs in the alpha's boat were sneering, jeering, or cheering, but Mason didn't notice. Nor did he notice the light building at the tip of the alpha's wand. Instinctively, Mason hurled the mess of robe at the other boy's face.

Surprised, the boy cursed, flailed, and knocked into the lantern post. Mason surged forward, one foot on the alpha's bow plank, when the lantern went out, and the post swung around, catching him squarely in the ear. Mason, stumbled, his world exploded into pain and ringing. Both boats sloshed about. People yelled.

The alpha tore Mason's robes off and raised his wand. The boy's face swam in and out of focus. A bright red light washed over Mason's face. The boats rocked further apart, and Mason felt himself slipping. Terror shot through his whole body. He didn't fear the alpha, or his wand. But he couldn't swim! He tried to backpedal, and the alpha sneered, and Mason's world slipped out from under him as something exploded out the end of the alpha's wand.

Mason's world disappeared, and cold took him. Everything was dark. Cold swept in and laughed at him, searing his skin, burning his eyes, his lungs, his heart. He thrashed, striking out, flailing for something, anything. But all he saw was dark. Pure, evil dark. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. He couldn't, couldn't-

-something clamped down on Mason's arm and heaved. With a mighty tug, Mason found himself free of the dark, sailing through the air, and landing hard on something wet and cold. He coughed, sputtered, and gasped. He felt pain now, pain his shoulder and knees, across his forehead. Someone was screaming. Mason hoped it wasn't him.

Sounds assaulted Mason. He felt something warm and yielding touch his cheek. Then a sound, again and again, soft yet insistent. _Mason, Mason! _ That word meant something to him. Then something hard smacked him across the face.

Mason sat bolt upright, coughing up copious amounts of lake water. It was still dark, but someone had re-lit the lantern, and he saw three faces gathered around his. Z, closest, had his hand raised, and Mason realized he'd just been slapped awake. He raised his own hands in surrender.

"Don't do that again, mate!" Z said, lowering his hand. Bradley was at the lantern, his own wand out. Chloe was just behind him. She had been the one calling his name. There was no sign of the alpha's boat, but Mason was sure that he heard cruel laughter floating out over the water.

"Sorry, I won't fall in the lake again. Tonight, anyway." Mason smiled feebly. "What did he hit me with?"

Z's eyes were big in the night. "Nothing, mate. You were lucky. You fell, and he missed us all. Bad shot, that one."

"Everyone's okay?" Mason felt his head start to pound. Water was dripping into his eyes. When he looked around the boat, his stomach protested.

"We're fine," Bradley said, sitting and re-pocketing his wand. "Are you okay?"

"It's just a little water," Mason said, coughing again to underline the thought. "Thanks to whoever pulled me out."

The three of them traded a look. "That wasn't us, Mason," Z said intently. "It was the squid."

Mason squinted at him, which hurt. "I'm sorry. I've just suffered head trauma. It sounded like you said 'the squid' just now."

Z's eyes were still big. "I know! My sibs all told me about it, but I never thought it would be so big! And we only saw part of it! Just a bit, really. It's supposed to be friendly, but the stories I've heard, well, you were lucky there, mate. Really lucky!" Z was smiling, his teeth shining like his eyes.

"Yeah, I feel it." Mason touched his brow. His hand came away red. It hadn't been water dripping into his eyes, then.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" Chloe said. Her hands flew to her mouth.

"Not to worry, there. They'll fix you up soon as we hit land," Z patted him on the shoulder, which made him wince. "Just a flick of the wand, and you'll be right as rain."

Driven by Z's words, Mason felt a sudden stab of fear, and reached back, pawing at the waist of his trousers. He felt nothing there. "Um, guys, has anyone seen my wand?"

Silence descended over the boat. 

AN: So, a literal stone's throw from Hogwarts, and Mason has already found trouble. I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter. Please, write in, tell me what you think! You know, I will eventually get Mason INSIDE Hogwarts! Y'know, seven or eight more chapters down the road...haha?


	6. Chapter 5: Not the Warmest Welcome

AN: Okay, we're actually going to get TO HOGWARTS this chapter! I've strung you along for long enough...what will happen next? Who was that student that accosted Mason on the lake? Will Mason find fitting into life at Hogwarts as difficult as getting there? As always, Hogwarts and Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling. Mason (and most of his class, minus Ginny, Collin and Luna) is my original creation. I hope you like him! Write in, tell me what you think!

Under the Long Shadow

Chapter 5: Not the Warmest Welcome

_...then I don't really see how I can put you in any House, little one._

_ You're just a stupid hat, then, aren't you?_

_ I've been called worse._

_ Can we just get this over with? I'm starving._

_ I know, I can hear your stomach rumbling from here._

_ ..._

_ What?  
>Well, I was going to say you don't have ears, but you're a magic, mind-talking hat that writes poetry and sings, so I guess I'll take that one on faith. Now can we hurry this along? I'm tried, wet, cold, bleeding and hungry!<em>

_ My, my, aren't we in a hurry. This isn't a choice to be made in haste. Why don't you tell me how this all happened, and maybe then we can move this show along?_

_ There's all these people standing around waiting, y'know._

_ They can wait some more._

Mason sighed. _No wonder these Sortings take forever..._

Sitting there on the hard stool in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, under hundreds of watchful eyes, Mason thought back...

"What do you mean, 'there's nothing to be done about it'? He assaulted us! We were attacked! My wand is gone! I want something done!"

On the shores of the Black Lake, Mason Hall stood before a man at least five times his size, yelling his lungs out in the night air as a crowd of new students milled around him. Bereft of wand and robe, he looked very much out of place. Steam rose off his body, as what little of his body warmth was left after his dip in the lake escaped into the night.

"Well now, there's no need t' be so riled up 'bout it, little one. Yer not the first 'un t' be fallin' in the lake, fer sure! We'll get yeh squared away, we will!"

"You. Are. Not. Listening," Mason ground out. He could hardly make out the huge man's face in the night, behind the mess of hair and beard that covered a head the size of a beach ball. "My friends and I were attacked by this prat, and I did not fall in the lake—okay, yes, I did fall, but only because he attacked us! Okay, maybe I went for him first, but he shot a spell at us—okay, he didn't hit anybody (not my fault he can't spell straight) but the intent was there—okay, so I intended to bloody his nose good, but I didn't make it that far! They rammed our boat—no I don't know who 'they' are, nor do I know what kind of spell he spelled at us, I just know a giant squid saved me life—okay, I didn't actually see it, but my boatmates all did. Whatever! I have no wand! That prat must've taken it—okay, I didn't see anyone take it, maybe it got knocked away when the squid grabbed me—I …. I have a headache."

Mason sank to his knees on the rocky shore. Behind him, a small fleet of boats bobbed on the shore of the lake. All around him, eleven and twelve-year-olds muttered and whispered, pointing and making other less-than-polite hand gestures. Try as he might, Mason couldn't point out the alpha dog that had accosted them on the lake: it was dark and everyone had on their robes and hats. Mason could barely even see Z, and he was standing right behind the large, hairy man. Z looked more awkwardly uncomfortable than angry, and he'd been there with Mason on the boat! Bradley and Chloe Cook, also on board, had melted into the crowd as soon as they'd touched shore. _So much for friends, _Mason thought.

"Come now, there's no need fer such language, now." The huge man said from under all that hair. He made to pat Mason on the back with a hand the size of a ham, but Mason ducked away and scowled up at him. "You'll feel better after you've been sorted."

Finding new strength, Mason rose up onto his feet and stared at the man. "Will I? I've got no robe now, I'm drenched, and I've GOT – NO –WAND! I'm at a school for magic, without a magic wand! And you don't care! You're just some big, dumb oaf who thinks I'm a stupid kid making up some story! You think I'm a liar! You don't know me! You don't know anything about me. So just back off! Go away! Leave me alone!"

The huge man's face glowered in the dark. "Yer askin' for detention before the year's even started properly. Go on, apologize fer that."

Mason laughed in disbelief and wrung some water out of his shirt. "I've just been assaulted and maybe robbed, and I need medical attention, and you want me to apologize? Get bent."

"Tha's it then. A week's detention. Mus' be a first. Detention before yeh even bin sorted. Dumbledore won't be happy, no he won't. And Hogwarts is such a happy place."

"Pardon, sir," said a voice in the crowd.

Mason noticed that the large man's hands were shaking slightly, when Seven Duffy stepped timidly out of the crowd.

Taking a moment, during which Mason guessed the big man was gathering himself. "The name's Rubeus Hagrid, lass. Keeper o' the Keys and Grounds at 'Ogwarts. No need for the 'sir' from you."

Seven took another step, into Hagrid's large shadow. She took a moment to steel herself. "Yes, sir. I just wanted to point out that, well, you can't give him detention."

Hagrid's glower turned down, forty feet or so, to fall on Seven. "How's that, lass? Wot are you talkin' about?"

Seven had pulled her hair back into a tail at some point during the night. Under her school robe and pointed dress hat, she looked even smaller than usual. "Well, sir-"

"Hagrid."

"Yes, sir." Seven seemed to fumble with the catch on her robe. "It's just that, well, I've read the student hand book, sir. Read it quite thoroughly, cover to cover, as it were, and, well..."

Hagrid seemed to forget Mason momentarily, and now gestured with impatience at Seven. "Yes?" he motioned for her to continue.

"And, so sorry sir," but Mason saw, under her long hat, that she winked at him quite quickly, "it says that teachers, prefects, and head boy and girl can award or remove points, and in fact, that only teachers – in fact, only _professors_ – can assign detentions. And, well, sir, _so_ sorry, but you are not, in fact, a professor at this school, are you?"

Hagrid's large eyes, like great lumps of coal the size of ostrich eggs, shone dully. "Well, not a professor, no-"

"In fact – again, so sorry sir – in fact, you are not a teacher of any capacity at this school, are you?"

Hagrid goggled down at the little girl. He grumbled something Mason couldn't hear; the effect reminded him of an engine revving up. Clutching a rather absurd pink umbrella at his side, Hagrid mumbled something that sounded like "next year maybe" and then turned on the spot, away from both Mason and Seven.

"Well, then, wot' are you all lookin' at? Up the path then! The feast won't wait forever! Nothin' to see here!"

Taken aback, the crowd parted instantly as Hagrid stormed up the slope that lead from the rocky bay into a tunnel leading upwards.

Mason waited until they'd gone, and was unsurprised to find himself alone with Seven.

"Thanks."

She grinned at him meekly.

Mason wiped some drying blood off his brow. "Does it actually say that?"

"Hm?"

"The handbook."

Seven played with the clasp on her robe again. "It says that only prefects, head students and teachers can award or remove points, yes, but..." she grinned, "that particular passage might have stopped there. There might have been no mention of detentions at all."

Mason eyed her. "And you thought that maybe this Hagrid fellow hadn't read that particular passage?"

She merely shrugged.

"You're clever. And gutsy. And mysterious." Mason gestured for her to precede him up the tunnel path. "Can you by chance whip me up a spare wand with some spell you learned at your sister's keyhole?"

Seven fell into step beside him. "No, sorry. Truthfully, I don't even know if my sisters know I can do the spells I can do. They didn't actually teach me anything. They just practiced their spells and read their texts, and I was always around, and so I picked some stuff up. The words, the motions...but I never had a wand until yesterday."

"I had mine for a week," Mason said solemnly. He kicked at the rocky path.

"It'll be alright."

Mason stuck his hands into his sopping wet trouser pockets and shrugged.

The main body of the students were waiting for them at a proper stone stairway that lead up out of the cavern they'd taken from the boat landing. A breeze followed them up the passage, and the sputtering torches in niches along the walls didn't help to lessen Mason's chill. Students kept throwing glances his way, with varying degrees of interest. Mason returned them all until they looked away in their own time. He still didn't recognize the alpha's face.

After many switchbacks, they moved out of the area that Mason could only describe as the dungeons, and into the keep of Hogwarts Castle. During the climb, Mason found that his wet clothes clung to him uncomfortably, and his trainers made squelching noises on each step. He felt some warmth return to his core, but his fingers, toes, nose and ears felt so cold that they burned. During the hike, Seven paced him, content to stay by his side, though they didn't speak. Mason didn't know what he'd say anyways. His arrival at Hogwarts had been something he'd dreamt about since he'd received his letter. This was not the way he'd imagined it, not at all.

By the time they'd reached the summit, Mason's feet were numb from cold. He was so focused on keeping them moving, one in front of the other, that he didn't notice they'd stopped, until Seven threw out an arm to stop him.

He looked up. Massive stone double doors large enough to be walls themselves barred their way. The keep stretched as far as the eye could see in either direction. They were so close, Mason couldn't see much. The ramparts disappeared high above. The facade of the keep seemed well-worn, though simple, clean but unadorned.

Hagrid, at the head of the mass, knocked on the door three times. As it creaked open, Z sidled up to Mason and Seven.

"You two are trouble, I knew it from the start." His tone was somewhere between accusing and envious. Then his dazzling smile split wide. "Mind if I hang with you?"

In spite of himself, Mason laughed. "Pleasure, mate."

Seven nodded too, but added, "Don't get too comfortable just yet. We're about to be Sorted. Who knows? We could all be in different houses."

Z's smile took a down turn. "Yeah, I'll probably end up in Slytherin like Abby."

"Is that bad?" wondered Mason aloud.

"Not according to my mother. It was the happiest I ever saw her when Abby made Slytherin, and then Fig – again, a Slytherin – the next year. Bought them both new dress robes, books, cauldrons; Abby got an owl, Fig got a cat." Z took a deep breath, as if he'd either been dreading telling this story from moment one, or he'd told it so many times it was a burden. "Then Kay and Pip got put in Hufflepuff, and mother nearly took them out of school. They've had to make due with the same robes ever since. And then, last year, Vye, my next-oldest, she got Ravenclaw. Mother got her a Remembrall, which was kind of like her saying, 'Well, at least you didn't get Gryffindor'. She'd have a whole herd if that happened."

"Hang on," Seven interjected. She'd been following Z's speech much more closely than Mason had. "My oldest sis said she knew a Gracie Spinks back when she was here. Wasn't she-?"

"A Gryffindor?" Z whispered. "Yeah. We don't talk about it."

"Can't blame you," Seven said, adopting his low tone. "My whole family's been in Ravenclaw. If they had a Gryffindor walk through their door at Christmas, the goose might not be the only thing that gets cooked."

Mason looked between the two of them. "You mentioned all the houses before, but I really don't get it. Why's it such a big deal?"

"If the three Nattering Nabobs in the back will kindly cease and desist their talking, I will most assuredly answer that question for you all."

The severe-looking witch at the head of the stairs regarded them coolly. Here was Mason's first look at an adult witch. She was old, true, but brimmed with authority and competence. Her hair and dress were precise, as was her diction. Mason could tell she was not to be trifled with, but couldn't help but sneak a smile at Seven and Z for being called out.

"As you are all no doubt aware, you have arrived at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. This is an establishment that has stood the test of time for over a thousand years. You will respect it and treat it as such. This place will be your home. Some will come to love it, others much less so: that is the nature of humanity. Hopefully some of you-" her gaze lingered over Mason and his friends, "-though perhaps not _all_ of you, will learn something in the next seven years."

Out of the corner of his eye, Mason saw Seven smile.

"I am Professor McGonagall, and in addition to being Transfiguration Professor, I am Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House. You will find out what this means in due time, if you are Sorted into Gryffindor. The Sorting will take place now, and the start of term feast will follow immediately after. The importance of your House, as some have speculated-" Mason suppressed a snort, "-is important for many reasons. During your education here, your House is just that. You will live, study, sleep and eat with your own House. Your behavior – for good or ill – will reflect on your House. Your successes will be sweetened because you did them together. Your failures will, hopefully, be softened by your House's sense of unity and strength. Points will be awarded or removed from your House in accordance with the behavior of each and every student. At the end of year feast, the House Cup will be awarded. To receive the Cup is a great honor. May you all become a credit to your Houses. The Sorting will begin shortly. Follow me."

Professor McGonagall turned sharply on her heel, with finality that allowed no questions. The amassed students followed in her trail. Through the open double doors sat a massive entry chamber, bigger than any room Mason had seen. It hardly could be called a room. The ceiling was too high to see, and myriad staircases spun off into numerous corridors. Mason did a double-take: did one of those staircases _move? _The floor, originally hard stone, had been worn smooth by – apparently – a thousand years' worth of student and faculty traffic. It was slightly warmer here, cut off from the night air, and the torches in the entry way didn't sputter as those in the tunnel below had. They burned steadily and brightly. Ahead stood another set of massive double doors, wooden and slightly more ornate, but the Professor lead them past those, to a small cubicle. As he passed the doors, Mason heard the murmur of hundreds of voices on the other side. It sounded like a sporting arena before game time. Mason felt a little electric thrill run up and down his spine.

The cubicle they were all crammed into didn't seem big enough for half their number. Mason ended up treading on more than one set of toes. Some students looked around in a daze, whereas others – like Seven and Z – kept bouncing on their toes, almost overcome with excitement. Some kept nervously removing and replacing their tall hats. As they did, Mason spotted a familiar mane of sunset hair. Subtly elbowing his way through the tiny room, he stopped at Ginny Weasley's elbow, and whispered, "It'll be alright."

Shorter than even he, Ginny squeaked and jumped a tad. She'd been chewing her lip, that much was obvious. She offered a tight smile, but said nothing. "You can hold my hand if you want."

The words were out of Mason's mouth before he even thought them. The diminutive redhead gave him a bizarre look, but then immediately fished about in her oversized robes until she found her own hand, and clamped down on his offered hand until Mason thought he could feel his fingers again.

"Enough talking," Professor McGonagall's stern voice returned. "Now form a line, and follow me."

Ginny's hand squeezed Mason's briefly before they were swept apart by the tide. Mason's fingers throbbed and he couldn't say exactly why. Then they were through the cubicle door and all other thoughts were pushed from his mind.

This was the Great Hall that Z had gone on about. It stretched farther than Mason could see. It was inviting and foreboding at the same time. Thousands of candles, all floating mid-air of their own accord, lit the massive chamber in an inviting, yet stark glow. Four tables, already brimming with students in matching robes and caps, filled the room. Each student looked so much older than he felt at that moment. Why did this Sorting have to happen in front of the whole school?

They filed between the student tables, marching toward another table where a long line of adult witches and wizards sat. In front of everyone, student and teacher alike, sat empty plates and goblets, all shiny and golden. The noise level, so high before, had fallen to something just below a reverent hush. Mason and the rest of the new students were strung out in front of a low stage, on which sat a simple, short-legged stool. Even as Mason watched, Professor McGonagall brought out an old, moldy hat, and sat it down on the stool. She backed away, and her eyes remained fixed on the hat

Nonplussed, Mason found his gaze drawn upward, where his greatest surprise of the night awaited: he saw stars! The massive room they found themselves in seemed to be open to the night sky, and Mason could clearly see the moon and clouds moving over its face. Yet he felt no wind, or rain, or anything. Then he saw one of the clouds merge with the wall, melt into it, and reappear seconds later on the other side. So the ceiling was bewitched. He was wondering what kind of enchantment could do that when a voice broke him out of his reverie.

Impossible, and yet, so true: the old hat had started to sing.

_A head once held my mind_

_ as solid as it was tough,_

_ but lately now I find_

_ One mind is not enough._

_ These halls they cannot speak,_

_ for that, my dears, is my job._

_ Nothing here must stop you lot-_

_ Your rich minds we must not rob_

_ The past is accorded plenty._

_ Today, there is just one_

_ Take head and tread softly,_

_ until these days are done._

_ The rules you'll find are many,_

_ The friends you'll find be true,_

_ Endeavors here be plenty,_

_ For whatever end you'll sue._

_ Hogwarts takes in hopefuls,_

_ the braggart, the thief, the fool._

_ All fall beneath my brim,_

_ for I am the greatest tool._

_ I'll tell you your home_

_ put you there thus._

_ I'll sort you out right_

_ and that is a plus._

_ You might be a Slytherin_

_ or belong in Gryffindor_

_ no matter what you think_

_ or where you've gone before._

_ You might favor Hufflepuff_

_ Or Ravenclaw to boot._

_ Wherever you're bound_

_ Take hold, take heart, take root!_

The hall burst into applause, which Mason joined mechanically. He stared without blinking at the old hat as it bowed to the assembled crowd. It was a wondrous thing, an object. But it had just talked – sang – and was now interacting with people. Amazing.

Mason knew the hat couldn't hear his thoughts, but the hat still turned its tip directly at him and one of the folds in its mangy surface moved in an amazing approximation of a wink. Mason was stunned into ceasing his applause. But before he had time to dwell on it, Mason heard Professor McGonagall speaking again. She was told a long roll of parchment, and lifted the old hat up with the other.

"Alexander, Annie!" McGonagall's voice boomed over the hall.

A pale girl Mason hadn't seen before stumbled out of line and walked up to the stool. Haltingly, she sat, and the Professor dropped the hat unceremoniously on her tiny head. Mason held his breath along with the others, and after a few moments, the hat's mouth split wide and called out, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The girl looked relieved to the point of feinting when the hat was removed, and she tore off to join one of the four long student tables. The students there applauded and welcomed her with handshakes all around. Now that Mason had a moment, he looked up over the tables. He recognized the symbols from the wax seal on his letters: a badger, lion, snake and eagle. So those must be the House mascots or something similar. By watching, Mason surmised that each animal did indeed represent a House. As pale Annie Alexander had run off to the badger table, that must represent Hufflepuff, and the next student up, a girl answering to, "Allen, Lauren," was chosen – "SLYTHERIN" and went to the snake table.

Realizing his turn might not come for awhile, Mason turned and tried to catch Ginny's eye. The little redhead, however, was splitting her attention between watching the hat call out Houses, and inexplicably shooting furtive glances over her shoulder at the lion table. Mason continued his turn, seeing Bradley and Chloe Cook, soon to be called, also deeply into watching the proceedings, and then Seven, who smiled in encouragement.

Seven's smile tightened a tad when McGonagall called her name. She marched up to the chair, sat and crossed her legs, and waited. It seemed to take awhile, during which time Mason felt more lake water drip down his collar. Finally, the hat let out a mighty shout of, "GRYFFINDOR!" and Seven walked over to join the lion table, her expression blank.

Z would be waiting awhile, but Mason still managed to toss him a hearty wave down the line. Z nodded back. Mason scanned the staff table while his shoes squelched still. They were an odd, varied lot. Tall, short, thin, fat, hairy, smooth, male female. He spotted Professor Flitwick, the tiny toadstool of a man who'd followed the Hogwarts letters, and a very tan man with ridiculous hair that flashed Mason back to the lake attack earlier. There was a witch that seemed to be wearing flowers, and an old man with one arm missing. In the center sat the oldest and most leathery man Mason had ever known. A long, white beard disappeared under the table, and half-moon spectacles sat on a long, thin nose. Due to his placement and years, Mason guessed he was in charge.

"Gray, Gretta!"

The name McGonagall called brought Mason back to the present. His own name would be called soon.

And, after the hat announced "HUFFLEPUFF", it was indeed Mason's turn.

Muttering broke out as Mason climbed up on stage. Battered, bloodied, bare of robe, Mason was sure he made quite a sight, dripping as he was all over the nice hall. Mason saw several sneers and looks of disgust peppered in amongst the curiosity and pity. _You ain't seen a thing yet, blokes,_ Mason thought.

He turned and took the offered hat right out of Professor McGonagall's hand, and proceeded to use it to wipe his face and dry his hair. Amid gasps and stifled outbursts, Mason continued, working the hat against his hands until both felt dry and warmer, then shook the hat out, flinging droplets all over. Ignoring the steadily growing cacophony of voices, only then did Mason sit and pull the hat on.

_Well, that was uncalled for._

Mason jumped. The voice had come from inside his own head.

_No, not your head, child. Inside my head, perhaps._

_ Can...can you hear my thoughts?_

_ It's only fair, isn't it? You can hear mine._

Mason looked around. True, faces were looking his direction, but none were directed at the hat itself. The hat was speaking only to him.

_Should I apologize to you? _Mason thought.

_ Would you mean it?  
>…no, not really.<em>

_ Then don't. I wouldn't accept it, little one._

_ Hey, you're a foot-and-a-half tall!_

_ Touchy, touchy. You just wiped me all over your face. Having some fun with you, aren't I?_

_ Is this all just a joke to you? _Mason grumbled.

_ That's ironic coming from someone who just dried his hair with me..._

_ Look, I don't see how that's important. In fact, I don't see how you can help me at all._

_ ...then I don't really see how I can put you in any House, little one..._

__

Mason didn't know how long he and the Sorting Hat argued, but he knew that he was hungry and tired and still upset.

_What is it that you want?_  
>Mason thought about it.<p>

_I want to go where I'll make friends, real friends. I also want to go where I can do what I want, where the action is. I want to learn, and I want to do stuff with what I learn. I want...I want a home. I want to know people like me. I want...I want to not be afraid anymore._

For the first time, the hat answered him with silence

_Well, then, there's really only one choice, isn't there? And I'm not lyin..._

Mason's eyes snapped open. Lyin? LION? Did the hat mean...? His eyes found Seven's a split second before the hat yelled out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Mason saw Seven break into applause with the rest of the hall, and ran to join his new family.

AN:Yes, I know, the protagonist joining Gryffindor is old hat (haha) but I think Mason is very much an anti-Harry character, and arrived there for different reasons, and is a good fit. Plus, it's easier to keep tabs on Ginny (and her fateful first year at Hogwarts) if Mason is there with her. I hope you enjoyed this installment of Mason's inaugural year! Drop me a line and let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 6: Pants and Gravity

AN: Mason is finally at Hogwarts! Sorry it took me so long to get him here.

Under the Long Shadow

Chapter 6: Pants and Gravity

Mason was under attack. A mass of red appendages – resilient, pliable and unstoppable – wrestled with him, giving him no purchase. He fought for grip, lashing out, but his small fists sunk into a skin that was soft and supple, and did nothing. He rolled over, but the beast went with him, laughing at his futile efforts. Mason felt his breathing grow hot, smothered by the sheer mass of his attacker. He couldn't tell its head from his feet. He couldn't find his _own_ feet. Up and down had no meaning any longer. Still Mason fought, striking out at every part of the beast that he could see. If nothing else, he would wear the foul thing down before he'd give up. Desperate, Mason lunged, then bucked his whole body in an effort to throw the beast off. Something gave: he felt the bottom drop out of his world, and then he was rolling, and then he was free.

"Quite a show, mate. You gonna wake me up this way every morning?"

Mason blinked as early-morning sunlight assaulted his sleep-encrusted eyes. He found himself on the floor, Z's curiously-sleepy face gazing down at him. He'd fallen out of bed. Around him were the remains of the heavy drapes from his four-poster bed. They were a mess. His sheets were rent asunder too, the topmost being ripped nearly in two, and his pillowcase lay far from all its stuffing.

Mason laughed at himself. "You look funny from down here."

Z arched an eyebrow. "Says the guy on the floor."

Mason rolled out his neck and flexed a bit. "Any port in the storm."

Z sagged back into his own huge and comfy bed. "You sure you're all right, mate? You were thrashing like you were still tangling with that squid."

"Comes from a night spent sleepless. How long did the party do on anyways?"

Z yawned raked a hand through his artfully messy hair. "Dunno. I came in sometime after one. Those gingers were still at it."

Mason raised himself up onto his elbows. "Even the girl?"

Z threw a blanket back over his face, shutting out the worst of the offending sunlight. "Which girl? There were so many."

Mason stared at his blanket-covered friend for a moment, then said, "Um, the pretty ones."

"There were lots of pretty ones." There was a pause. "If you meant a certain redhead..."

Mason ignored his friend's overly-casual voice. "Shut up. I just like redheads, okay?"

A hand rose out from under the blanket. "Me too! Me too! 'Course, I like me some blondes, brunettes and...well, pretty much anything really. There was this one bird, back in primary, she was bald. Think she had a sickness, or something. Dunno, really. Anyway, she was quite the catch. First girl I kissed, y'know. Taught me how to play Spin the Wand. I was...nine? Eight? It was a warm weekend, that much I remember. We were at her sister's flat ..."

Mason collapsed onto the floor as Z's latest story washed over him. It hardly seemed possible that the sunlight coming in through the thickly-paned picture window was the same sunlight he'd been cursing in the park two weeks ago. He sneezed. There was a lot of dust in the castle.

"...anyways, she was off to bed not long after you."

Mason blinked away from the window and focused on Z, whose head had magically reappeared. "Really?"

"Yeah, you know, after that Potter kid turned in. She made herself scarce after that."

Mason made a non-committal noise and sank back to the floor. _Potter,_ he cursed. Again with Harry Potter. Was his whole Hogwarts existence going to be about that berk?

* * *

><p>THE NIGHT BEFORE<p>

After the initial rush of being Sorted faded, and Mason had stuffed himself to bursting with the magically-replenishing dishes of sumptuous food, he set about making sense of the social pecking order at Hogwarts. Some things were obvious: older students outranked younger ones, those with shiny badges pinned on their robes had a greater measure of authority, and by and large, Houses simply did not mix. Curious glances were traded between Gryffindor and the other tables, but beyond that, they seemed to exist as separate worlds. Mason was saddened that both the Cook siblings had been sorted into Ravenclaw. He wouldn't likely be seeing much of them anymore. He was, however, very heartened that in addition to Seven, Z had also been sorted into Gryffindor. His empty stomach had growled – though not with hunger – until they reached the W's, and Ginny Weasley joined Gryffindor after only a moment's pause

The short, squeaky Professor Flitwick – the teacher that had come to Mason's house to help transition Mason and his family into a Hogwart's life – had gotten up and announced a musical number, called _Swan Song_, to entertain them all. Mason hadn't expected students to get up there with _actual_ swans! Several of the girls twirled ribbons in the air – though it took a moment for Mason to realize that the ribbons were twirling themselves – and performed ballet moves. The whole thing was very surreal. Mason kept waiting, half-expecting someone with a camera to jump out and yell, "Boo! Fooled you!" just before he woke up from the best dream he'd ever had. He saw the same half-glazed look on many of the new students just like him.

There were so many new people. Mason had tried to keep all the names straight: Wright, Webb, White; Clopper, Clancy, Creevey. He had a flash of irritation when he recognized one, "Wolfshord, Martin," being sorted into Slytherin. When the very tall youth's very tall hat came off to don the Sorting Hat, Mason recognized the hairdo at once: here was the boy responsible for his loss of robe and wand. Now he had a name to go with the face. Mason made a special note of it, but filed it away in the back of his mind as he grabbed his goblet and sidled down the long House table to find Ginny.

"Hey," he greeted her. She jumped. She'd seemed rather jumpy all night.

Ginny seemed to look through him for a moment. "Oh, hi."

For some reason, that amused Mason. "Wow. 'Oh, hi'. You need to tone it down, there, bit. You're gonna explode all over your ice cream."

The pink and green puddle in her bowl had thoroughly melted awhile ago. Ginny looked down at it, swirled it a bit with her finger, and frowned down at it. Then she craned her neck and looked past Mason, down the length of the Gryffindor table.

Mason tracked her gaze. "Is the party cooler over at the Ravenclaw table or something?"

Ginny grinned sheepishly, then looked down.

A bushy-haired girl across the table picked up an eclair from a tray near them. "He hasn't come in yet, Ginny. I haven't seen him either."

Mason grabbed an eclair too. It was warm and gooey and smelled wonderful. "Are we missing someone?"

Ginny's face turned almost as red as her hair. She mumbled something Mason couldn't hear. "Her brother," the bushy-haired girl – Mione, if Mason remembered right – supplied. "Her brother Ron – and a friend – were right behind us on the platform, and we were all running late. We got on the train and were on our way before we realized Ron wasn't with us. We don't know what happened to them – to him." Mione squeezed out a dollop of cream from the eclair. "Oh, my parents would kill me for eating like I do here."

As the other girl wiped cream off her nose, Mason noticed that Ginny's cheeks were no longer reddened, but she still looked around incessantly. _Must be really close to her brother,_ Mason thought.

"Nice pants," said a voice.

Mason's next line of contrived conversation with Ginny Weasley died in gestation, as he turned, and saw a girl on his other side. She was slightly taller than he, freckled, and peering down at him with large, bright eyes.

"Pardon?" Mason said.

The girl indicated downward with a dip of her large eyes. Mason looked down. His right trouser leg had split at the knee, all the way up to his hip, and his unders were laid open to the world. Suddenly the world seemed very hot.

"Lavender," the girl commented.

Mason, in spite of himself, grinned. "I'm pretty sure they're red." He didn't know if he was supposed to be upset, embarrassed, or giddy. Maybe all three. This girl was older than him, that much was plain, but he didn't know by how much. It felt strangely fulfilling to have an older girl pay him attention. He always wondered how it felt to be Marcus.

"No, that's me. Lavender. It's my name. Lavender Brown."

"A lot of that going around."

"What's that?" she wondered.

Mason waved it away. "Me and names. Not the best of friends today. But, y'know, it's nothing but the wind by tomorrow. These were new."

The girl, Lavender, giggled. "Your pants?"

Mason's mother might not have been thrilled about him starting at Hogwarts, but she had bought him new trainers, trousers and pants at the least. All his shirts were still Marcus's hand-me-downs though. None of these facts were things Mason wanted to tell Lavender.

"Yeah, just my luck."

Lavender's eyes positively danced. "Well, I think they're... interesting."

Heat crawled down Mason's neck Feeling a sudden odd compulsion, Mason gathered up some nerve and asked, "Yeah? Are your pants interesting?"

Lavender pinked, and made to answer, but was interrupted by a flurry of activity a few seats down. The ginger twins that Mason had met briefly on the train were excitedly buzzing over a copy of some newspaper. In fact, the buzz was reaching well beyond them. Mason spied copies of the paper all up and down the table, and saw many heads leaned together in animated discussion.

"What's all the bother?" Mason inquired in general, but Lavender had turned away, herself speaking in low, conspiratorial tones with a girlfriend.

"Oh, they did _not_," Mione said disgustedly. Her bushy hair was barely visible over the top of the paper. The banner read _The Evening Prophet._ Mason had never heard of it. He was about to inquire, but stopped. His eyes bugged out, for two reasons. First, the headline, "_Flying Ford Anglia Mystifies Muggles,_" and second, the picture that accompanied it: it showed a flying car, and it was moving!

Mason stared, blinked, and stared some more. But it stayed the same: the thick, yellowed parchment bore a large picture of the skyline of London, and as Mason watched, an old flying car puttered into frame, then faded from view. It appeared again, traveled across the frame, and disappeared again. Mason stared at the image until his eyes watered, and he realized he'd slopped some juice down his front.

Setting his goblet down, he cleared his throat. "So, is that not normal?"

The absurdity of his question amused him, but Mason kept his face straight and waited.

The ginger twins (which were obviously Ginny Weasley's older brothers) leaned in on either side of Mione. "It was our idea," said one.

"Totally," said the other.

"We were shortchanged," said twin one.

"Left out," said twin two.

"It's disgraceful," they said together.

"The two of you realize they'll probably be expelled for this?" Mione asked bleakly, her eyes pinched shut against the answer.

"Possibly," said one.

"Likely," said the other.

"But what a way to go," said they both.

Mason wasn't really following that, but the news seemed to be a great source of amusement, excitement, and a little bit of envy, all up and down the Gryffindor table, so he nodded and looked excited right along with the rest of them.

At the long table where all the adults sat, the old man with silvery hair rose, and a hush fell over the hall. "Well met, well met!" he intoned. His voice was deep, resonant, yet not imperious. The hall somehow felt fuller as he spoke. "Now frivolity must end this eventide, as we prepare for another school year to begin. Our bodies sated, our minds prepared, our souls stirred. Let us not waste a moment on the timid and the tumultuous task of reciting rules and regulations. Suffice it to say, that all will be revealed at Hogwarts to those whose minds remain ready to seek that which cannot be lost! Now: we dwell on these words of wisdom – spot, fervor, lemon, squeal. And off we go – four, five six!"

As he finished, a superbly large parchment shot out of the end of his wand and unfurled to reveal words. The whole assembled throng – prompted by routine, Mason supposed – launched into the most broken, discordant, wheezing, gnashing mess of a song he'd ever heard. The song was so without direction that Mason couldn't even follow the words, or the tune. As it progressed, Mason saw the other new students like him looking around in bewilderment, while others sang and sang to their heart's content, following their own tempo. Finally the song fell silent, and the old silvery man nodded his approval.

"As always, the magic of music moves us more than we can say. There can be no greater way to end this inaugural night! Off to bed with you now!"

Mason's head was full of fuzz. Thoughts chased each other around, thoughts of magic, music, girls, wands, squid, mother, brother, robes and pants. His belly was full, his body still cold, and suddenly he felt very, very ready for this day to end.

Mason followed the press of bodies out the hall, his footsteps echoing in the massive stone corridors along with his new classmates'. If he had the strength in him, he would have noticed some amazing things. He might have noticed staircases that rearranged themselves under his feet, walls lined with pictures that watched him and made impertinent comments as often as offered greetings, magnificent stained-glass windows that winked at him, silvery shadowed forms that bowed to him, the nervously-empowered tittering of the scores of newcomers around him...it all blended into something akin to a dream. A taller, older student leading them around was telling them things that were no doubt important. Fellow students were remarking on things Mason would no doubt find fascinating. Things were happening all around him. Mason blinked again and again, and focused on his tired, aching feet.

At last they stopped, and the student leader spoke to someone. Mason vaguely registered that he was speaking to a painting, when the painting moved aside and they all filed past. Beyond was a warm, comfortable, and most invitingly homey room. Mason wanted to crawl into the nearest oversized armchair and sleep. The student leader – some self-important-sounding redhead – wouldn't let well enough alone though. He was busy directing them to twin staircases at the far end of the room. A sermon on their luggage, which was supposedly waiting for them upstairs, was flowing over Mason's head when the portrait they'd entered through swung open again.

A suddenly swollen roar emanated from the room around Mason, shocking him back awake. Loudest were the twin cries of the Weasley brothers, crowing over the two boys who'd just stumbled into the room. Ginny, Mione, and a host of others descended on these two like they were celebrities, peppering them with congratulations and questions alike. One of them had glasses, the other had a head of springy ginger hair.

"Guess that's him."

Mason was surprised to find Seven standing next to him. Her tie was a bit askew, and she yawned a bit as she spoke. _ I'm not the only one awaiting my bed,_ Mason thought.

"What now?"

Mason looked over and spotted Z's dark mop of unruly hair, amidst the gathering throng, but the other boy's attention seemed focused on the new girls in the crowd, rather than the two late arrivals. Mason smiled at that. Being friends with Z was sure to keep life interesting.

"Him," Seven pointed as she sunk into the armchair Mason had been angling for. "Harry Potter."

"Harry who?"

* * *

><p>END FLASHBACK<p>

Mason struggled to right himself, as his bed coverings were still intent on keeping him pinned to the floor. A sudden bright flash going off in his face and blinding him didn't help any.

"Oi! Come off it, Corwin."

"Colin," a high voice squeaked. "Colin Creevey. Say, could you do that thrashing about thing again? And maybe this time, look up, like at the ceiling, or maybe out the window? The light wasn't too good..."

"Shove off, Colin," Z said half-heartedly. Colin – a blonde boy with large teeth and dark eyes in the next bed over – frowned, and lowered the large, flash-mounted camera he'd been pointing at Mason's fallen form. Mason rolled half over and looked around the room.

Colin wasn't the only one gawking. Mason saw another half-dozen faces peering, with varying degrees of interest, from their own curtained beds. That one was Sam, that one was … Russ, or was it Ross? Then there was...that guy, and that guy, and that other guy, and...Guy. Yeah, a guy named Guy. Why was it you never came across a girl named Girl? There had been the briefest of post-party intros as they'd all stumbled into pajamas and bed. This bright morning, Mason could hardly remember his own name, much less all his new dorm mates. But one name he couldn't forget, hard as he tried, was the name of Harry Potter.

The assembled Gryffindors, Colin chief among them, had been more than willing to bombard Mason with the abridged life history of one Harry Potter, "the Boy Who Lived." Mason thought it sounded a lot like a fairy tale: an evil wizard, an orphan, a tragic tale, raised in anonymity, plucked from obscurity, handed a destiny. He'd arrived at Hogwarts just last year and already made quite a name for himself: youngest Quidditch Seeker in over a century, instrumental in winning the House Cup, defender of the Philosopher's Stone, witness to Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Quirrell's sticky end. Famous for flouting the rules. Funny scar.

And, as if that weren't enough, he'd arrived this year in a _flying car_. Mason was not impressed. He kept telling himself that it had nothing to do with Ginny Weasley and the stars in her eyes whenever she looked Potter's way. He had to tell himself this quite often.

From his vantage point on the floor, Mason glowered up at the ceiling. The seconds year students, like Potter, were on the next story up, the third years above them, and so on. Mason wondered if he stared hard enough if he could find Potter's bed and set it on fire. Then he remembered this was a school of witchcraft and wizardry, and thought better of that idea.

The thought of evil wizards had never occurred to Mason. His natural reaction to magic was in the realm of shock and awe. The fact of its existence still mystified and intrigued and frightened him a little. To wrap his mind around the idea that someone would seek to warp such a thing to evil ends was nearly unthinkable. But the Gryffindor common room was abuzz with a name, or at least the fear of a name. The name of "the most evil wizard in over 100 years," according to Seven. And his name was Lord Voldermort. Mason's only reaction was to roll his eyes. By his reckoning, anyone who had to refer to themselves as a _Lord_ Anythingwas seriously overcompensating for lack of something else.

Mason didn't want to look at the ceiling anymore. Tossing his bedsheets back in the general direction of his bed, he went to wash up.

He had just dribbled some toothpaste down his chin when he heard the first yell.

Mason jerked. His toothbrush fell on the floor, spraying toothpaste onto his neck and chest on the way down. He looked for a towel but didn't see one. Hitching up his pajama pants, he ran for the hallway.

So far, the spiral stair that linked all the dorm levels was the only one that hadn't moved on Mason. A bunch of students were pouring out into the hall, all in states of half-dress, rubbing sleep from their eyes. Mason followed the source of the noise.

Mason spilled into the Gryffindor common room along with a dozen or so others. A knot of sleepy-eyed students was crammed around one of the stained-glass windows. Mason had to stop for a moment and just look at the window: it kept shifting, a scene of sunrise, then of sunset; of rain, then of sunshine. Always shifting. Birds in the glass kept flapping their wings in annoyance at the gathered throng. Mason stood on tiptoe to try to see what the fuss was about.

"It's my cat!"

Near the front of the crowd, two girls, both taller than Mason, and obviously sisters, were arguing with animation and fervor not usually seen in girls in their dressing gowns. Both girls' hair was in disarray, and their faces were red. Mason thought he recognized one of them from the swan thingy last night.

"It's your fault, Gia," the one on the left said, stamping her foot.

"It is not, Jenga," said the one on the right. From her tone and demeanor, Mason guessed she was older. Or at least more used to getting up this early. She crossed her arms over her chest. "It's not my fault you can't keep that mangy beast locked up at night."

"What's wrong?" Mason inquired through a yawn. Being so small, he'd had no problems getting to the front of the pack.

The younger of the two, Jenga, turned her teary-eyed face toward Mason. "It's my cat," she said, her voice cracking.

Mason glanced down at the floor, but aside from lots of slippered feet, didn't see anything. "What about your cat?"

Another girl, taller and darker of hair, pushed her way through the bodies. "Gia, what did you do this time?"

Gia, looking scandalized, shot the dark-haired girl a frosty look. "Why do you always take her side, Arshala? It's always my fault when something goes wrong with my _pooooooor_ sister. It's much too early for this," Gia said, pretending to wipe tears from her eyes. Jenga, her face crumpling, bit her lip.

"It's the cat again, isn't it?" Arshala said. She had dark eyes and was tan. Mason couldn't help but notice that her dressing gown showed a lot of leg.

Jenga seemed to barely be keeping it together. "He's...he's...out there!" She pointed out the stained-glass window in front of them. "She put him out! I know she did!" Gia rolled her eyes, blue like her sisters, and looked away. Mason was sure she really couldn't care less about the cat.

"What? Move over, let me see..." Arshala went up to the window, wand appearing in her hand, and squinted out the thickly-paned glass. She murmured something before sighing. "How did he get out there? The window's sealed."

"She magicked it! I know she did. And she must've made Crumbles go out there. He must be freezing! Can't you help?"

It took Mason a moment to realize that Jenga's question was directed at him. He looked around at all three girls. "What? Why me? I'm just a first-year. Can't one of you do anything?"

Arshala looked patient but irritated. Jenga looked terribly upset. Gia looked bored. "Because none of us could fit out on the ledge. I can open the window, but I can't go out there," the last of them said.

Mason was thinking lots of things. One was he had only his pajama pants on. Another was agreement with Gia: it was much too early for such drama. Another was he had no wand. Another was how high up they were. Another was 'Crumbles' was a dumb name for a cat. He was about to protest and voice all these thoughts, but Jenga turned her tear-stained face on him, and he faltered.

"Ok. I'll help you," Mason sighed. Jenga clapped both hands to her mouth to hold back a squeal of delight. Arshala muttered something under her breath and backed away from the window. Gia rolled a shoulder and produced her own wand. "_Diffindo,_" she breathed, aiming it at the window. The hinge gave a tired squeal and swung an inch. Arshala moved forward and lifted it upwards. She got it less than partway open before the hinged squeaked and the pane froze in place. "That's as good as it's going to get," she said, motioning Mason forward.

The moment the window had opened, a cold wind had sliced into the common room, making Mason break into gooseflesh all over his exposed skin. He wanted to go back and get a shirt, a sweater, anything. He wanted to back out, but more students were piling into the room and watching intently now. He walked to the sill and looked out. A small gray cat, looking hazy and indistinct in the breeze, cat quite still on a spur sticking out from the castle wall. Hitching his pajama bottoms closed tightly, Mason began to squeeze himself through the small opening.

His guts jumped up into his throat the moment he caught his first glimpse of the grounds, hundreds of feet below. The wind made his eyes water and the stone window sill was rough under his hands. The cat sat shock still, not even bothering to look his way.

"Here, kitty kitty," Mason said, his throat dry. His hands began to tremble, and he told himself it was just the cold.

"He won't come. He never comes when called." Jenga's voice floated out to him over the wind, sounding very calm for once. Mason gulped. He inched further out, his feet coming off the common room floor, his tailbone scraping against the window's edge, pulling himself out over the spar. The spar was very narrow.

"Here, k-kitty..." Mason felt the wind tugging at him as he balanced on his hands and knees. Still the cat didn't move. As Mason got closer to it, he noticed that it still looked blurry and wavering, like he was looking at it through a heavy rain or a curtain. Mason felt his bare feet scrape past the edge of the window as he reached for the cat.

His hand passed right through it.

Mason wobbled, almost lost his balance, and collapsed on the spar. It was stone and cold and suddenly felt a lot smaller. Arms and legs wrapped around the stone, he blinked and looked where the cat had been. Only a wispy silver vapor was left, drifting away in the wind.

"What the-?"

Laughter exploded behind him. Three female voices rang out louder than the rest, high, mocking laughter.

" 'Oh, my kitty'," Jenga's voice, definitely under control now, called out to him.

"Wow, you firsties get easier and easier every year," Gia's voice added.

"So gallant, though not exactly wearing shining armor," Arshala put in. Mason heard other laughter, some cruel, some nervous, all swelling together from the crowd at the window.

"Who knows? Maybe he is! Let's find out..._diffindo_!"

Gia's voice rang out again, and Mason felt something jerk at his pajamas. Suddenly wind whipped up and pulled them free. Mason's legs burned with cold. He was clinging to a stone spar so very high above the ground, in his pants, and everyone was laughing at him. His armed burned, his eyes watered, and he was shaking to the bone.

And then he got angry. Grinding his teeth, he raised one arm and made a rude gesture at the laughing voices.

And then his other arm slipped off the spar, and the ground rushed up to meet him.

* * *

><p>END CHAPTER<p>

AN: Poor Mason. I hope you're enjoying Mason's first Hogwarts experience! Anyone with comments, I'd love to hear them.


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